Plea of Insanity
by Clockwork Key
Summary: [FE8] “Miss, you’ve lost! Lost, lost, lost! You’ve failed all of them!”
1. Radcliff Asylum

_**Chapter I**_

_**Radcliff Asylum**_

"Ah, Mrs. Radcliff; how wonderful to see you again."

Eleanor Radcliff was a beautiful woman, with thin tendrils of copper hair hanging about her pale face. She would have been even more of a beauty had she smiled more than once in a blue moon and her eyes were not so icy. Tobias McArthur forced a polite smile as he bowed his head to Eleanor, making sure to keep his eyes locked on her chilly gray. She was very picky about eye contact.

"Likewise," she said curtly, waiting until Tobias took the seat behind his desk and finished edgily shuffling around patient files in an attempt to tidy, "I've come to see about the state of this institution, and my daughter."

Tobias winced slightly to himself and nervously tucked stray strands of his uncombed hair behind his ears. He should have known that this sudden visit was just that, no matter if she bundled it up with business and the like. As the director of the Radcliff Asylum of Psychiatry, Tobias should have known that was all Eleanor cared about.

"I've told you several times, Mrs. Radcliff," he began delicately, "The court order said that she wasn't to receive any visitors for several months. I'm sure your lawyers informed you of the procedure for . . . her situation," Tobias said, barely hiding a flinch as Eleanor's apathetic glare turned to a furious snarl.

"I want to see my daughter!" she hissed through clenched teeth, pounding a fist on Tobias's desk and knocking down a photograph of his fiancée, "It's my God given right as a mother to visit my daughter, and if you don't let me see her, I'll make sure to do everything in my power to have you fired from _my_ institution!"

"Mrs. Radcliff, control yourself!" Tobias snapped, standing up and leering down at Eleanor with challenge in his dark eyes. He stood more than a head and a half higher than tiny Eleanor Radcliff, "Your husband may have founded this hospital, but you do not have any authority over the running of this place. That is what I am paid to do, not by you, but your husband's grant."

When Eleanor blazing gaze failed to falter, Tobias sighed and ran a hand through his brown hair; hair speckled with gray at his left temple, despite his age.

"You know very well that Alice is not permitted to have visiting hours until myself and three other doctors have found her suitable and have informed your lawyers." Tobias sat down and pulled a file towards her, hoping that Eleanor would leave. "She has been placed in this asylum because of a court conviction and a guilty plea to second and third degree murder. There are certain actions that cannot take place until she is out of solitary confinement."

"Solitary _confinement? _You put Alice in solitary confinement, and yet I was not notified?"

"You were informed of her incarceration." The words didn't soothe her temper.She stood with rage burning in her eyes and sickly venom pouring from her hissed voice. Had Tobias a more infantile mind, he almost would have called her a monster. "You will find her suitable for my audience, McArthur, and you will do it **now**."

"Is that a threat, Mrs. Radcliff?" Tobias asked coldly, crossing his fingers and resting his head on them. He might pride himself on his composure, with a temper that never seemed to ignite, but he could speak with as much poison as Eleanor when he wanted. "Because if it is, then I'm sure security would be more then happy to escort you back to your car."

Her face purpled in an unattractive rage. "This isn't over," she hissed, "I will see my daughter and there won't be a damn thing you can do to stop me." She strode from the room, slamming the door so hard behind her that a thin crack spread through the glass planes in the wood.

Tobias sighed heavily and pushed his glasses back up the bridge of his nose in exasperation. He always hated dealing with the Radcliff family, even more so since the death of William Radcliff and the incarceration of his stepdaughter. However, William's charity paid well and gave Tobias enough money to help pay for the elaborate wedding he was to have in neigh four months.

For now, he had to get his mind off of Eleanor and Alice and back to his work. He had several unforgiving hours before him; he had papers to sign regarding patients recently released, patients recently sentenced, patients that needed monthly reports sent to various lawyers and government officials . . . Sometimes he really hated his job, but it was better then a lot of other professions.

Tobias grabbed another file from the massive pile on her desk, opening the thin manila folder and starring at the photograph of a smiling young woman dressed in a navy school uniform, with her blonde hair plaited and her blue eyes bright, and happy.

The name printed next to the picture was '_McGee, Alice_', and beneath that was the reason she'd been sentenced to the Radcliff Asylum of Psychiatry.

'_Twelve counts of arson, three counts of armed burglary, fifty counts first degree murder.'

* * *

_

A fork of lightning illuminated the black sky above, followed by a clap of thunder that made her nearly jump out of her skin. The Princess of Renais pulled the hood of her cloak tighter around her face to avoid being splattered by hard rain droplets and sighed heavily to herself.

Eirika didn't mind constant, tiring traveling at all, but she didn't prefer traveling in rain such as this. The trail back towards the Rausten village they had just left was muddy and near impossible to take on horseback, while a good portion of her brother's army had no visibility or sense of direction in this condition. Normally, they would have simply taken refuge in a cave or thicket, but it had been raining for the greater part of a week now and the only option they had was to return to the town and wait out the storm.

Such setbacks irritated her greatly, especially when the army was so close to Darkling Woods, the Demon King, and Lyon, but there was nothing they could do about weather. Eirika knew that if they were ambushed in the wood (which she could guarantee was going to happen), being waterlogged and frozen would only give every one of their soldiers an early gravestone. She gripped the hilt of her rapier, her numb fingers feeling the familiar indents and imperfections in the sword's thin hilt and taking a weak sense of security from it.

"Just a little while longer and we'll be back in the village!" she heard Ephraim yell from his position beside her. Barely anybody heard him, thanks to the clap of thunder that instantly followed his words.

Eirika squinted through the storm above her, trying to see if the blob in the distance was another line of trees or the outline of that village. She rubbed her horse's neck, hoping to keep the poor mare calm even though her legs kept getting stuck in the mud.

"It's alright," she said softly, though her horse probably didn't hear her. She could barely hear herself in this awful weather.

When the village tavern became a solid sight and the horses were no longer standing chest-deep in mud and muck but on rain sloshed cobblestone, Eirika leapt lightly from her mare and tried to pull the inn door open, thinking in ecstasy of the warm, dry beds and meal inside. The door's lock clicked, but did not open.

"What's wrong?" It was Ephraim, looking like an angry wet dog and holding Myrrh's sleeping form in his arms. The dragon girl was bound in a cloak too large for her, but at least it kept her dry from the rain.

"The door's locked! It can't be that late, can it?"

"You've got to be kidding."

A lithe woman, dressed in white silk beneath the mottled fur of her cloak, had climbed off her bedraggled horse and was gripping an ornate golden staff tight. Her eyes were blazing in fury as she pounded the staff against the tavern door, the sound muffled by the rain and thunderclaps.

"I am Princess L'Arachel of Rausten! Open this door and let us in!" she bellowed furiously, but no lanterns were lit on the inside and nobody stirred behind the walls. Ephraim pulled her back and shook his wet head, splattering her face with water.

"It's no use; we'll have to find somewhere else to rest for the night."

"Where? This is the only inn!" L'Arachel barked impatiently, shivering in cold.

"Why don't we ask if one of the houses here will take us in, we can pay for the room, right?" Eirika asked, not wanting to hear arguing. She was too tired and too cold to hear a debate.

"I think I remember seeing a mansion at the edge of the town," Ephraim said, moving back to his horse and resting Myrrh against the stallion's neck, "They'd probably have room to accommodate us."

"Is that really the best idea, Brother?" Eirika thought back to the manor she had seen when they first arrived into town a week ago, when the maelstrom had first begun. It wasn't old or disturbing looking, built in a decadent style reminiscent of the homes in Carcino, but it didn't seem quite right in an unearthly way.

"We could either drown out here or see if the mansion will take us in." Another clap of thunder sounded, following a lightning bolt by mere seconds. It probably wasn't that safe to stay out in the open, especially since they were surrounded by thick forests with tall trees for several miles. Eirika nodded dejectedly and turned to L'Arachel.

"Tell everyone that we'll see if we can get board at the mansion. If not . . ." The turquoise haired woman chewed her lip.

"We'll try and wake up the innkeeper," her twin supplied, already on his horse and jerking the reigns towards the edge of the town, "We'll meet you there."

"Right!" Eirika watched L'Arachel hurry back towards her own horse and the rest of their small army, holding up the hem of her cloak so that it wouldn't be ruined further by the murky puddles that lingered around the stone street.

Still holding onto the hilt of her rapier, Eirika climbed back upon her stead and dug her heels into her mare's flanks and followed her twin brother towards the manse, eyeing the wooden structure apprehensively.

It was rather new in appearances, built of stone that had not yet weathered and oak wood still glossy from builders. A sign had been built in the house's front gardens, though she could only read the word 'Radcliff' on it as it swung in the heavy winds. It was their only hope for a dry night, but it wasn't her first choice for room and board.

Ephraim had to knock on the doors by kicking them a little too hard, since he still held Myrrh in his arms. Eirika shot a glance at her brother and then to the capped silver spearhead of Siegmund. The Sacred Twin was strapped in its ornate holster on his back, whilst Eirika's sword was wrapped tightly in a cloak and hung on the saddle of her horse. The respective wielders of the other Sacred Twins – the holiest of holy weapons – kept them in similar manners, for protection and respect.

To Eirika's great relief and somewhat disappointment, the door of the manor home opened and a bedraggled woman appeared, holding a candle in her hands. The wind and rain quickly extinguished the flame, but not before Eirika could see that she was maybe fifty, with graying copper hair and a bony figure, though her gray eyes were sharp and intent. Something about the woman, though, didn't feel entirely normal.

"Yes, what's the problem sir?" she asked in a formal accent, suggesting she was raised in the aristocracy. Perhaps this was her husband's country home.

"Sorry to bother you, but the inn's closed and we need a place to stay for the night," Ephraim said quickly, though politely, bowing his head slightly and sending water into the woman's face. She flinched violently.

"Laurence always closes that tavern too early . . ." she spat furiously, almost catching Eirika off guard by the sharpness in her words, "How many people are 'we'?" Her eyes snapped over at the two horses they had left in the yard.

"About thirty, with maybe twenty horses, three Pegasi and a Wyvern," supplied Eirika and when the woman chewed her bottom lip, she added hastily, "We'll pay you generously. Please, ma'am, it's only tonight."

"Of course," she said with a heavy sigh, "Come in, you're companions can lead their mounts to the stables in the back." Eirika pushed back her hood and looked at the entrance hall of Radcliff manor, taking in the various paintings and knickknacks mounted in splendor on the walls and spindly tables. The paintings, although of various artistic skills and styles, all showed one girl with blonde braids and glistening cerulean eyes that seemed to watch Eirika and Ephraim's every move.

The woman busied herself with lighting the hall, muttering indignantly about the hour even though she'd answered the summons quickly enough, while L'Arachel led the rest of their army into the hall, each of them looking relieved at being indoors. Tana wrung out her ponytail and looked intently at the matron of the house, who took one look at several of their faces and gave a small squeal of embarrassment. Her face, however, remained stoic.

"Oh, Saint Latona be praised, Princess L'Arachel and . . . you didn't mention there was royalty with you! Oh, this is no trouble at all, stay as long as you'd like, your Majesties!" she said, hastily straightening her hair and nightgown and giving a weak curtsey not of Rausten style, "You'll have to forgive me; my daughter Alice just passed away. Tuberculosis, you see . . ." Something in her words made a small part of Eirika doubt that. "I'll have Gretchen show you to your rooms . . ."

Ephraim bowed again respectfully, though it was Innes's voice that spoke next, sharp and swift as ever. "Thank you for the rooms, Madame . . .?"

"Oh, it's Madame Radcliff, Eleanor Radcliff," she said as she hurried towards the servant's quarters off the entrance hall. Eirika could not help but shiver again, trying to avoid the watching eyes of the blonde girl in the portraits.

_**Side Note:**_

_**First degree murder is the murder of anybody under special circumstances, such as the use of torture or especially heinous means, or means requiring great preparation, such as poison or lying in wait.**_

_**I do not own Fire Emblem, Nintendo does. I own all original characters.**_


	2. Alice

_**Chapter II**_

_**Alice**_

The room that Eirika was to share with Tana for the night was large and very warm, with two large beds in opposite corners bedecked in the royal colors of the Rausten Pontifex. The fire that crackled in the hearth, which looked to have been burning for hours despite Madame Radcliff's tale of sleep, was so inviting and so very warm that Eirika could not help but forget her worry as she warmed her frozen fingers by it and sighed in relief.

"Something doesn't seem right about this, does it?" Eirika turned towards Tana. The Frelian Princess had taken off her cloak and hung it on the ornate mantelpiece, and she now sat on one of the beds and untied her boots. "All those paintings in the hall, they all were of that same little girl, weren't they?"

At the memory of the many paintings with the same little girl and the same eerie smile, small shivers ran up Eirika's arms, though she dismissed it as a chill.

"We're only here for the night," she said simply, standing and unbuckling her rapier, "I don't like this place either, but it's only for the night."

"Even if it's still raining tomorrow?" Eirika smiled at her old friend, slipping off her breastplate and boots.

"We'll get a few rooms at the inn and stay there." Her heart fell at the thought of wasting away another day due to rain, but they couldn't fight drenched in water and mud. At the same time, she couldn't help feel some sick relief. Another day in this village meant another day that she could delay facing Lyon, and delay being part of his death.

Tana seemed to guess Eirika's thoughts, because she said nothing for a long while and fingered her spear, a magnificent weapon of polished wood and sharpened silver. Sighing heavily, Tana smiled and stood, picking up her boots again. "Why don't we look around the mansion? You know, see what's here."

"What?"

"We always used to do it when we were little kids. We'd explore Castle Frelia or Renais Castle. . ." Eirika couldn't believe Tana was this childish. They were in the middle of a war, facing the almighty Demon King and she wanted to invade a woman's house who offered them room?

"Come on Eirika, doesn't this Radcliff woman seem odd to you? With all those paintings of that blonde girl, the fact she almost seemed to _expect _us?" Tana's eyes fell upon the fire and the room that had been prepared for them so quickly.

"Fine," Eirika said dejectedly, pulling her boots and gloves back on tightly, "But not long. We need to get sleep while we can."

Tana grinned widely and led Eirika out of the room and down the dark halls of the manor. The portraits of what Eirika could only assume was Madame Radcliff's daughter – Alice, was it? – seemed to glare menacingly at the two of them and Eirika, who had witnessed much worse, couldn't help but feel nervous as she stared at the portraits.

Something that sounded like singing was floating down the hallway. A tune that was ethereal, beautiful, and yet she could not help but fear her heart clench and adrenaline flood through her veins. Cursing slightly, she had half a mind to double back for her weapons and half to continue onward.

When Tana continued down the hall and came to the door behind which lay the source of the eldritch song and the bells that played with it, Eirika turned her pale eyes to what was in the room.

It was dark and empty, dried sprigs of belladonna, hemlock, and other poisons hung on the walls, filling the room with a sickly smell. A circle – a magical pentacle, Eirika recalled from Lute's and Ewan's magic – was painted on the floor, and in the center sat a girl surrounded by patterns made of belladonna sprigs.

She was pale and very young, bound in chains and an odd jacket that wrapped her arms around her chest. The red lily behind her ear burnt deep crimson in contrast to her bleached skin and hair. She looked asleep in the circle, but at the sound of Tana's sharp gasp of breath, the girl's eyes opened.

They were lifelessly blue, like a corpse's eyes.

"Have you come to mock me too?" she asked in an echoing voice that sent chills up Eirika's spine. She swore mentally, furious fury for forgetting her swords behind her. It was an armature mistake, and now she and Tana were unarmed facing this girl who couldn't be human – not with those eyes and that voice.

"Go and wake up someone," Eirika hissed through clenched teeth and Tana nodded, leaving the room instantly. The little girl tilted her head to the side and grinned widely.

"Will you be my friend? Or have you come to mock me to?"

"Who are you?" Eirika asked quickly and the girl stood, barely reaching past Eirika's waist. How she had managed to stand, bound in that jacket and chains, was beyond the Princess's understanding.

"I'm Alice," she whispered, "A part of her, a lonely child. You don't know what it's like to be lonely, not with a brother like yours." Eirika's heart nearly stopped at that. How did she know about Ephraim?

"Will you play a game with me?" Eirika wished that Tana would hurry up with someone, anyone with a weapon so that she could feel better in this girl's presence.

"A game? What sort of game?"

"Lots of games. Lots of fun games, but nobody will play with me. Will you play hide and seek, Princess Eirika of Renais, a game of hide and seek in Paradise?"

She did a double take, swallowing painfully. How had this child known her name? Was she another puppet of the Demon King's, another type of monster in a human guise? No, Lute rambled enough about the various types of monsters and the closest ones who appeared human were the half-snake Gorgons.

"I like playing hide and seek. Its fun when you have friends playing with you, good friends, like you and your brother Ephraim and your army. They'll play with me, won't they, Eirika? You and your brother used to play hide and seek all the time, didn't you? Back in Renais Castle?"

This was too much. Eirika turned quickly and slammed the door shut behind her, running down the hall and trying to calm down. Damnit, how could she ever face Lyon and the Demon King if something spooked her like this?

Even still, that girl . . . Alice . . . she knew too much . . .

"Aren't you going to play with me Eirika? You and your brother wouldn't leave me feeling sad and lonely, would you?"

She turned quickly and stared at the pale child in front of her. Free of the chains and jacket that had bound her, Alice was looking up at Eirika with something – awe, hate, greed? – in her eyes, sprigs of belladonna leaves and berries braided into her hair and woven into the sleeves of her dress. She grinned wide, her eyes flickering between mania and glee.

"You won't escape Paradise, Eirika. You and your army will play hide and seek with me. I've waited too long to play with you. You wouldn't want me to wait any longer, would you? I've been patient for so many years."

"What the hell are you!" she snapped, backing down the hall and looking for the room that held her swords. She would feel much safer with the Sieglinde in her hands, or even a club, just something.

"I'm Alice," she repeated, "And you're going to play a game with me. Please, Princess Eirika, play with me?"

Where was Tana? Where had she fled to, when Eirika so desperately needed someone to help her right now? She found the handle to the room that Madame Radcliff had given her and threw her weight against it, pushing it open so that the Princess of Renais could grab the golden hilt of the Sieglinde and draw it with a flourish, her hands shaking as she brandished the blade.

"Are you going to kill me Eirika?" Alice whispered innocently, cocking her head to a side, "Are you _really_ going to kill me?"

Her hands shook violently as she tried to focus her mind, to calm herself. What the hell was this little girl, that she scared Eirika this much? Alice seemed to know that Eirika wasn't going to make a move and it showed in the glitter of her blue eyes.

"You're going to have a fun time in Paradise, Eirika of Renais," she said threateningly and strode from the room, her blonde hair swinging behind her as if in a breeze, singing the eldritch song.

Eirika felt her knees buckle and she collapsed onto the hard stone floor of the room, the Sieglinde clattering next to her. What was it about Alice that made her breath catch in her throat and her body freeze in fear? Was she really that weak, that much of a frightened little girl?

"Eirika, what's wrong?" She nearly screamed and stood up suddenly, looking behind her and gripping the Thunder Sword of Renais tightly. Tana was standing by the bed she was using for the night, her navy hair tousled and her eyes sleepy.

"But you . . . You went to get Ephraim just a moment ago!" Tana raised an eyebrow sleepily and yawned, pressing a hand to her mouth.

"I've been asleep, don't you remember?" The surprise and concern in Tana's voice and eyes couldn't have been faked by magic and Eirika's eyes widened violently. By Grado and Saint Latona, Tana had been right next to her when they'd open the door to Alice's room! Yet, she was saying that she'd been asleep, while Eirika had been at the mercy of a demonic little child?

"But . . . but you were with me . . ."

"It must have been a dream. Go back to bed," the Frelian Princess said with another wide yawn, going back into bed and curling under the sheets. Eirika stared at her friend for a long time, looking at the fist clenched about her sword's hilt, collapsing to the ground again.

Was she going mad?

* * *

It was the smell that awoke Prince Ephraim of Renais; the sickly scent of dried herbs and potent wine. He wrinkled his nose and groggily blinked his eyes open, trying to pull his thoughts together and ignore that smell – which seemed to fade away as he woke up.

He'd fallen asleep sitting up, surrounded by maps of the area, battle plans, quills and an empty bottle of ink that had been knocked over during the night. Myrrh was asleep on the bed behind him, shivering slightly from the cold and occasionally sneezing. She must have gotten sick from being out in the rain all night. Yawning widely, Ephraim cracked his stiff neck and pushed the various papers back into the leather portfolio they had come from.

"Prince Ephraim, are you awake?" a hurried voice came from behind the door. It was Seth, looking as if he hadn't slept well, but he rarely had since the war began. The general bowed hastily and his voice was quick and uneasy. "Milord, Princess Eirika is gone. We've searched the whole of the mansion but there's no sign of her."

The news woke him up instantly, Ephraim's eyes widening fast. "How could she have disappeared? Wasn't Tana in the room with her all night?" he asked hastily, grabbing the Siegmund from where he had rested it for the night, "Didn't she hear anything?"

"No, Princess Tana said that she didn't hear anything unusual. Forde and Kyle are looking around the village for her." Ephraim nodded quickly and left the room quickly, fastening his cloak around his shoulders. "Seth, watch Myrrh."

Where had Eirika run off to? Had she been kidnapped or lost somewhere in the manor? No, Ephraim knew that Seth wouldn't have let Eirika leave the room in a foreign house and get lost, and Tana said that she hadn't heard anything unusual . . . So where the hell was his sister?

"Is there something I can do for you, sire?" One of the maids was walking up the hall in jerky steps, holding a tarnished tea tray in her arms. There were two wreaths of leaves and berries wrapped around her wrists, and a blank, glazed look on her face.

"Did you see a woman leave the manor during the night? She has blue hair and eyes, yellow armor," Ephraim said quickly yet calmly. The maid didn't answer for a while and when she did, it was in the same jerky voice, the words with varying articulations.

"I believe she is speaking with Madame Radcliff in the parlor. Please follow me, sire." Ephraim ran his fingers across the golden pole of Siegmund, removing the cap from the silver point. He eyed the herbs tied around the maid's arms and waist.

"I didn't think belladonna was wild in Rausten," he said casually, following the blonde maid down the halls.

"It is not. Madame Radcliff's daughter wished to have it cultivated in the gardens. She was fond of poisonous plants."

"Really? What sort of poisons?" He was eyeing the tea tray suspiciously now, paranoia sending adrenaline through his veins. It was an unfortunate side effect of battle.

"Miss. Alice was fond of belladonna and hemlock. Here is the parlor." The maid pulled open a door with one hand and let Ephraim walk inside, the Prince keeping one hand grasped around the Siegmund.

The room carried with it a choking stench; much of the furniture rotted and covered with dust, the woman in the heavy armchair – Madame Radcliff, he recalled – was smoking a pipe that stank of decay, wine, and disease. It was, however, the sight of the woman spread out on the lounge that made the Siegmund fly from its holster and into his hand.

"Is something wrong?" Madame Radcliff asked, chewing on the end of her ornate pipe. The blonde girl that sat next to her looked up at Ephraim and smiled eerily. He tried to avoid her eyes; inhumanly pale and shallow eyes.

He said nothing, but looked at his sister's body, thrown carelessly on the bench. Eirika was deathly pale and unmoving; he couldn't even tell if she was breathing or not. "What's wrong with Eirika?"

"Oh, just a bit of poisoning. Nothing too troubling," Radcliff said casually and the girl next to her giggled melodically. "Oleander and laburnum, I believe, and a bit of belladonna for flavor. All have such lovely colors, such strong poison . . ."

"Poisoned? Who poisoned her?" he asked dangerously, raising the lance to point at Madame Radcliff's face. The woman did nothing but blow a ring of foul-smelling smoke into his face. The girl beside her, however, stood up from her spot by Radcliff's side and spoke.

"She's playing a game with me. We all are going to play some games, Ephraim, because that's what friends do, right? They play games? Your army and your sister and you . . . We're going to play in Paradise." Her voice echoed bizarrely, though the room wasn't large enough for an echo. "Doesn't that sound like fun?"

"This is insane." He sheathed the lance and ran towards his twin's still form, lifting Eirika up delicately. Her head lolled unpleasantly, as if she were a rag doll that had been thrown around too much, and her skin – although pale – was tinged with a feverish red.

"I may be crazy, but I am Beautiful Lady Alice," she said slowly, smiling widely.

Alice . . . That was the name of Madame Radcliff's dead daughter, wasn't it? So was this little girl another demented byproduct of necromancy, like Emperor Vigarde and Orson's wife?

Ephraim scowled darkly and made to turn around, to leave this room and get the army back on the route to Darkling Woods. He hadn't even turned around before there was a loud, metallic clang and his eyes widened painfully. The maid had swung her tray at the back of his head, white dots snapping in front of his fading vision as he collapsed to the ground, out cold in an instant.

Alice smiled horribly and turned her lifeless eyes up to the maid and Madame Radcliff, both of whom were looking down upon her in a sort of holy reverence.

"The game begins."

_**Side Note:**_

_**Belladonna (or Deadly Nightshade) is an extremely toxic plant that is fatal in doses as small as three berries are eaten. If the root is ground up and ingested, it causes severe hallucinations. 'Belladonna' means 'Beautiful lady' in Italian.**_

_**I do not own Fire Emblem, Nintendo does. I own all original characters.**_


	3. Paradise's Entrance

_**Chapter III**_

_**Paradise's Entrance **_

The sound of bells echoed in Eirika's mind, echoing so loudly that she knew she had to be ill. Against her aching body, she pushed herself up and opened her eyes to reveal a bleary world of reddish colors, rather like flames waving in the breeze. She frowned.

What had happened after she fell asleep? She couldn't remember anything except for a sickly scent she couldn't recall completely.

Nauseatingly slowly, her vision fell back into place and she could see that she was lying amidst a field of flowers, all the plants the same type of red spider lilies, all of them moving melodically to the sound of bells – the source of which she could not see. The field of flowers was surrounded on all sides by a tall forest not too far away, with trees twisted in a horrific sort of manner and, although the flowers were in full bloom, all the trees were leafless and dead.

Was she still asleep? No, she could never feel this sick and sore in a dream. This was real, strange and eerie, but tangible and physical. Eirika stood, and, gripping her pounding head, looked around with warm bile rising in her throat.

One look around this odd landscape told Eirika two things. The first was that she was completely alone with not even her rapier or the Sieglinde at her side, and the second was that whatever this place was had been drastically altered by magic in a way that was disturbing, ethereal, and mesmerizing at the same time.

The sky that looked down upon her was horrific. It was broken, with various weather patterns stitched together in a sick manner. Some parts of the sky were clear blue and sunny, while some were stormy and raining and one section was even fire red and filled with thick clouds of pewter gray. It gave the field a strange mixture of sunshine, moonlight, and darkness that made Eirika shiver.

Where was she?

"Hello misses! Are you lost as well?"

Turning quickly, Eirika found herself looking up into the beaming, smiling face of a redheaded young man. She breathed a heavy sigh of relief as she recognized the face hidden partially by a black hat, though the adrenaline didn't leave her veins just yet.

"Joshua, is that you?"

He certainly looked enough like the Prince of Jehanna, but there was also the sense of hostility that Eirika had felt before and a dazed, far-away look in his eyes that didn't look normal. What bothered Eirika the most was the smell; the putrid stench of belladonna on Joshua's clothing and breath. The doppelganger cocked his head to the side and grinned widely.

"Possibly, possibly . . ." he said strangely, rocking back and forth on the balls of his feet like an impatient child. He went rigid for a moment and snapped his fingers, "I suppose I am! Ironic how you knew my name, misses!"

"This isn't funny," she said, hoping she didn't sound too frightened. Her head was beginning to spin painfully, though Eirika didn't know if it was because of fear or the nausea that turned her stomach. Joshua (or whoever this man was) merely grinned wider and shrugged his shoulders obnoxiously.

"Nothing's ever funny if you don't find it funny," he said whimsically, nodding as if he'd just revealed some important secret. Eirika scowled darkly.

"Where am I?"

"Why, you're in Paradise, of course!"

Paradise . . . Hadn't Alice mentioned something about playing games in Paradise? Was this some sick game? Eirika clutched her aching head as Joshua walked in front of her, his wide strides not disturbing the flowers the way her steps did. She felt around on her belt for the small coin purse she had and pulled out a single copper coin – tarnished and rusty, but hopefully enough to serve her purpose.

"Joshua, would you like to make a bet?" she asked casually, holding out the coin on her palm. If this was the real Joshua, he'd jump at the idea of gambling and if he was indifferent, well, she'd have to find some weapon to defend herself in that case.

The redhead went perfectly rigid and turned quickly on his heels, looking at her in something close to torment. Eirika forced to keep her face straight and voice free of delight as she spoke. So this man was the same swordsman that had traveled with her since Serafew, but under some sort of spell or enchantment.

"If I win, you'll have to stop doing this charade. If you win, you can continue being whatever you want."

Personally, Eirika hated games of chance, one of the many things she shared with her brother. They were too risky and usually the games were rigged in your opponent's favor, but for the moment, Eirika didn't care. She knew now that Joshua was just bewitched from the way he'd acted at the thought of gambling, and it was in her favor if she could snap him out of this stupor.

"Tails," he said quickly, his wide smile fading slowly. Holding her breath, Eirika flipped the coin and watched it spin in the air enviously slow. Finally, it fell right back onto her palm and she looked at the carvings made on the copper surface.

It was heads, in her favor.

Eirika grinned to herself as she slipped the coin back into her purse, but the grin faded as she looked at Joshua. He was swaying slightly where he stood, a dreamy smile on his face. "Joshua?"

"I suppose that is my name!" he said in that same obnoxiously chipper voice and her heart fell. He was still bewitched, or whatever was making him act this stupid, and Eirika said nothing as he continued rambling. "Suppose that's me, Joshua, isn't it?"

Not for the first time, Eirika wished she knew magic. Then she could snap him out of this and she could possibly get answers as to how they'd gotten here . . . wherever here was.

"Where is Paradise?" she asked delicately, being sure to avoid a patch of rain and wincing as her pale eyes looked again at the shattered sky.

"Paradise is in Paradise, of course!" he said again and she scowled darkly in irritation.

"But where is here?"

"In Paradise!"

This conversation was only making her head pound furiously. Eirika looked over at the crooked trees not too far from where they now stood, eyeing the path that cut through the gnarled trunks.

"Where does that path lead?" she asked, pointing.

He turned quickly towards her, snapping his heels together and grinning in that annoying manner that she was growing to hate so quickly. "It leads to wherever you wish to go, misses!"

This was pointless. Eirika stared in exasperation at the dazed face of her former traveling companion in disbelief. "Does the road lead anywhere? To a town, maybe?"

"Maybe, maybe," he said cryptically, "I know! It leads wherever you want it to lead to!" Eirika shook her head, only increasing the pounding pain of her headache, and turned towards the entrance of the forest path. If it did lead wherever she wanted it to lead, then it would show her to a town where she could get some answers as to where she was and what had happened to Joshua.

The Prince of Jehanna followed her still, remaining completely silent unless it was the rare occasion she asked him a question. Luckily, this left her some time to gather her thoughts on the situation, to try and calm the overwhelming sense of fear that she had.

Where was she, since the title word Paradise didn't explain very much? It didn't answer why the sky showed jagged slices of weather and why Joshua was acting so strange. She pushed away low branches of the trees upon entering it, wincing violently at the disgusting smell of decay that hung around the woods.

It was as if nothing had lived in the forest for decades. The trees were twisted and a dead black, and no foliage graced the ground, aside from dead bundles of thorns that had not lost their sharp sting. Everything was bleak, colorless and empty, and filling her with even more panic. Here she was, wandering through woods with nothing but a bewitched swordsman at her side.

She rubbed the spot where thorns had snagged her skin, thin speckles of blood dripping down to the ground. Eirika heard a wince and turned sharply to see that Joshua was looking at her in deep concern, the dreamy look gone slightly from his eyes.

"What's the matter?" she asked hastily, reaching for her rapier out of habit, even though she knew the sword wasn't there.

"I think you angered the trees," he said in a singsong voice. Eirika would have been greatly relieved, if sharp talons hadn't gripped her arms and throat before she could process the thought. Unable to scream in fright or even think, Eirika could only look up with fright in her blue eyes.

The tree had grabbed her, its thin branches moving soundlessly as it lifted her up, its clawish grip cutting deep into her throat and torso so that warm blood flooded her mouth and front. She could see more the thorny vines that adorned the base of one gnarled oak grow rapidly, as if by magic, and begin to snake their way towards Eirika's prison and Joshua's legs.

The swordsman made no sort of stand as the thorns cut into his legs and merely stood, smiling in that blissfully ignorant manner as another tree grabbed the back of his coat. He hung there like a rag doll and turned towards her, still grinning dazedly. "Well, this is a bit of a bother, isn't it, misses?"

She couldn't have answered him even if she had wanted to, because she had no breath to spare. All her attention was, for the moment, focused on the humiliation Eirika would receive if Ephraim could see that she, the Princess of Renais, was at the mercy of a group of trees.

* * *

"Hello, Alice; are you feeling well this morning?"

Tobias McArthur forced his lips into a thin smile as he looked at Alice McGee. The girl had recently been moved out of solitary confinement to one of the private rooms, Eleanor having forced the removal though those damnable lawyers of hers. Just looking at her, though, Tobias couldn't see why she had been needed to be kept under such tight security.

Alice had the appearance of a china doll, with pale hair and milky skin that had gone gaunt from the time in the rubber room. Her eyes, a light shade of pale blue that was unnerving, were sunken and surrounded by deep circles. She did, however, smile serenely at Tobias and turn towards the windows of her new room.

"Quite cheery. I've made new friends," she said in that melodic voice that sent shivers up his spine – and he had dealt with a lot of worse cases then Alice McGee's. "They're playing a game with me."

Tobias clicked his pen and began scribbling on the clipboard he carried. It was standard procedure for most of the severe cases to write down anything unusual the patient says. Although, in retrospect, there wasn't a lot of normal things his patients said.

"Why don't you tell me about these friends of yours, Alice? Are they friendly?" he asked, forcing his voice to sound kind and taking a seat at the small table in the room. Alice blinked slowly and tilted her head to the side, still starring intently at the closed window where rainwater dripped down. It always rained in this part of the country.

"Why should you care, you little lapdog of my mother?" she snapped, turning quickly to Tobias and narrowing her eyes dangerously. He was suddenly very glad that she was bound to the bed and free of anything sharp. "Why should you care, you don't believe me anyway!"

"Alice, calm down or I'll have to give you something to make you calm down," he said slowly, narrowing his own eyes and glaring down at her skeletal body. When she had first come to the Radcliff Asylum, she had been of a fine build and now she was barely healthy.

"LIKE YOU CARE!" she snarled viciously, struggling against her bonds, "LIKE ANYBODY CARES! My friends care about me! They're play hide and seek with me! They won't tell me I'm crazy or lock me up because I gave Paradise some friends!"

Tobias looked towards the nurse standing by the doorway, holding a tray where three syringes lay, each filled with a mild tranquilizer. The nurse hurried forward and Tobias took the needle delicately. Alice's eyes narrowed further and she stopped struggling. When she spoke, her voice was a thin hiss of hatred.

"I suppose that you think I'm insane too, don't you, Dr. McArthur?"

What a stupid question. Of course he thought that she was insane, he'd been the one that wrote up her diagnostic, but years of working with the mentally ill had taught Tobias that it was a bad idea to say it to the patient's face.

"I don't think you're insane, Alice," he said calmly, keeping his voice kind and eyes focused on her deathly blue, "Why don't you tell me a little more about all these new friends of yours?"

That brought a thin-lipped smile to her face and a misty look to her eyes. Alice's voice was dreamy when she spoke, fidgeting slightly in her straight jacket. "I have a lot of friends now; lots and lots of friends. But I like Eirika and Ephraim the best. They're the nicest. I've known them the longest. Twelve years, to be in fact."

"How are they nice? Do they give you things, or tell you nice things?" Tobias asked lazily, setting the syringe back on the nurse's tray. Alice pursed her lips and continued in a whisper that he had to strain to hear.

"They play with me. Ephraim likes the things I like, Eirika likes the games we play." Her lips curved in a wicked smile and she fell back onto the pillows of her hospital bed, looking at the gray ceiling tiles. "We guard what is between their Heaven and this Hell. Our Paradise is our Purgatory . . ."

"Did these people teach you that song, Alice?"

She didn't seem to hear him and continued, "We are the guardians of the gate . . . Rubbed clean by the oils of the Queen's belladonna. We guard the gate to Hope."

Tobias thought back to the newspaper articles he had read, when Alice had recently been incarcerated. The story of her trial had listed all fifty people she had confessed to killing. At least twenty of them had died of poisoning and of those twenty; fifteen were dead from belladonna root. It seemed to be her favorite plant, as the house she shared with Eleanor Radcliff had had sprawling gardens of beautiful plants, all poisonous, with belladonna the greatest in quantity.

She shut her eyes and spoke weakly, her breathing slowing down slightly. "The Twins can't escape Paradise. They will play hide and seek with me . . ." She stopped talking and moving.

Tobias quickly pressed two fingers to Alice's neck, pleased to feel a pulse. She had merely fallen asleep . . .

This was peculiar behavior for someone who otherwise fell neatly into manic depression and schizophrenia, but not too disturbing. Instead, he began to write down her eerie little song, trying to discern if the 'Twins' she spoke of in Paradise were her new friends Eirika and Ephraim, or more new friends of hers.

Either way, they were just delusions of her ill mind. They didn't exist; they were just hallucinations.

_**I do not own Fire Emblem, Nintendo does. I own all original characters.**_


	4. The Demon and the Mourner

_**Chapter IV**_

**_The Demon and the Mourner _**

A metallic taste filled Ephraim's mouth as his mind struggled for consciousness. His head ached painfully from where the tray had hit him, and his vision was blinded by white dots that glittered merrily at him. Blinking rapidly to clear his vision and his monster of a headache, he was greeted with the sight of large, teary crimson eyes blinking inches from his face.

"Myrrh!" he yelled in surprise, jerking backwards slightly from the small girl. Myrrh was very pale and looked almost terrified, kneeling on the ground and clutching her hands together in white knuckles of fear.

". . . You weren't waking up," she said weakly. "And I was scared . . ."

"It's all right, Myrrh," he said softly, his heart rate quickly returning to normal as he stood. Much to his fury, the Siegmund was gone from his person and he didn't have so much as a knife to protect himself or Myrrh. Ephraim's eyes flickered to their surroundings; those vastly different from that of the Rausten village that bordered Darkling Woods.

They were in an empty meadow, the brown grass crackling under his weight and the only illumination on the field was the full moon above them. Ephraim frowned darkly as he stared up at the night sky.

There weren't any stars. The sky, aside from the perfectly round, white moon, was pitch black and empty.

"Do you know where we are?" he asked the small Manakete by his side. Myrrh shook her head.

"General Seth was looking for Eirika . . . and I was with him. Two of the people in that house . . ."she sniffed back tears, "The girl kept saying 'Paradise'. She grabbed my neck . . ."

Ephraim could tell immediately what had happened. Alice, or the zombie-like maids of the manor, had knocked both Myrrh and Seth unconscious as they had done to him. What he couldn't understand was how two women – one of them being only a young girl – had managed to subdue an armed General of Renais. Unless they hadn't…

"Myrrh, do you remember if the girl knocked out Seth?"

She shook her head quickly. Ephraim nodded and looked around at the dead field of grass, trying to find any path that could lead to a town or a village or even a farm. Just any place that wasn't out in the open like this would be wanted.

"Let's go, Myrrh."

She nodded and kept close on his heels as he walked north, hoping that they'd be able to come upon some sort of civilization – a town, a city, a _shack_. Ephraim's mind was pounding at an almost unbearable level, both from where it'd been hit with a tea tray and from unanswered questions.

Where were they? Rausten's landscape was mainly thick forests and small hills in the northern part and, through the travel through the theocracy, Ephraim had never seen such flatland there. And where were the stars when the moon was still omnipresent in the sky? When his mind drifted to Alice – the girl he was sure had brought he and Myrrh to this desolate place – his head throbbed worse.

He needed answers, or even just a weapon would suffice. He hated not knowing anything, especially about where he was. But he knew that his answers lay with Alice McGee, or even Madame Radcliff. Both of them had been involved with him falling unconscious, and Alice had knocked Myrrh out cold.

"Does ye wish to take this path?"

The sudden voice made Ephraim jump quickly and look to his right, the direction where the sleep voice had come from His hands flexed for the wooden feel of a lance shaft when he saw the person perched to their side.

To their right was a single stone well, which didn't seem to have been there a few moments ago. Seated at the edge of the well was a young boy, maybe Myrrh's age (physically, of course) who grinned cheekily at Ephraim. It took a while for Ephraim to see the boy; he blended almost perfectly in with the night, his hair, skin, and eyes deep, dark brown. There was braided belladonna and laburnum around his wrists and neck, a circlet of the poisons resting on his head and mud caked on his coat and leather clothing.

"Who're you?" Ephraim asked quickly, making sure that Myrrh was behind him. Even though she could certainly take care of herself with that monstrous dragon form of hers, he still felt as though she needed protection.

The boy smiled wryly and tilted his head in an angle, much like a bird would do. "Min name be Cat, yet ye be unknown to me. Pray tell, what is your purpose in min wood?"

What wood? There was only dead grass!

"Ephraim . . . He's not human . . ." Myrrh's voice was hushed and fearful, her red eyes looking at the dark boy in the utmost fear. Ephraim looked at the grinning boy in surprise, though not by much. Something in the boy's eyes mimicked the dead quality in Alice's gaze and his grin never flickered, staying perfectly still as if painted onto his young face.

"Ge be correct, human not human," Cat simpered coldly, standing onto the edge of the well and glaring at them intently. "Though I would have to admit, thou art my kindred, yet ye be of a different bloodline."

The cryptic quality of Cat's voice was irritating, and the last thing Ephraim needed was another annoyance with the Siegmund gone, Myrrh in his charge and the both of them lost in a field of dead grass. His voice, however, was calm when he spoke to the grinning boy.

"Can you tell us where we are?"

"In Paradise," Cat responded swiftly. "Now, would ye wish to take this path?"

"What path?" Ephraim said hastily.

The field, apart from the well where Cat sat, was completely devoid of anything resembling a street, road or path. But Cat's eyes glittered wickedly and he leapt down from the side of the well, slipping his hands into his overcoat's pockets.

"Because ye denies the path be there. When ye accept the path being where the path be, than thou can traverse the path."

When Ephraim opened his mouth to question Cat in an angry tone, the boy held up one thin finger and pointed it at Myrrh, who flinched and held Ephraim's hand tightly.

"The Engel of Music can tell thee where the path lays, yet thee must first speaketh with the Engel."

"Where is the Angel?" He was fighting to keep his voice calm while his temper mounted violently.

"Thou art must travel the path to find the Engel of Music." Cat's eyes sparkled, seemingly, in response to Ephraim's irritation. This didn't make any sense, no sense at all . . .

Ephraim inhaled deeply and spoke through ground teeth. "All we want is to get to a town. Will you tell us that much?"

". . . For a price . . ."

Myrrh's eyes widened violently as Cat turned towards her, pointing his long finger directly at the Manakete. "Relinquish the human not human, and ye shall receive the information regarding anything ye'd wish. Even how to leave Paradise, if that be what thou wishes."

Paradise? He and Myrrh . . . they were in Paradise? Didn't Alice . . . hadn't she spoken of Paradise? Unintentionally, Ephraim's fingers curled in the usual position he gripped his lances with, but for now he was out of a weapon and had to stare at Cat with proud defiance in his eyes.

"I'd never give up Myrrh." His voice was cold and venomous, as was the cerulean glare directed at Cat. The dark boy's grin flickered for a single moment and slipped his hands into his pockets.

"Then ye'd be damned to Paradise, less ye be willing to part with the human not human." Cat's eyes narrowed maliciously as he withdrew a long silver knife from his pocket. "And thou shall be parting with her one way or another, young King."

"Run, Myrrh," he hissed and Myrrh looked up at him—swallowing painfully, it seemed.

"But Ephraim . . ." she began to protest.

"RUN!"

Cat charged towards them and the indigo-haired girl by his side fled as fast as her small legs would take her. Ephraim, although he preferred a spear to any other form of combat, knew how to hold his own without a weapon. He dodged Cat's lunge with the knife and grabbed the boy's arm, twisting it to his back so that the bone snapped. To his great surprise, Ephraim's antagonist chuckled heartily and turned his head around to stare at the Prince of Renais. The bones of his neck cracked as it spun around, so Ephraim and Cat were face-to-face.

"Ye care for the human not human?" he asked and, shifting all his weight to his left foot, pressed it as hard as he could against Ephraim's boot. He ground his teeth painfully as his bones snapped and instead tightened his hold on Cat's broken arm.

"Tell me where Paradise is," he said darkly. "On Magvel?"

"Paradise be where Paradise be, and ye be in Paradise." Cat jerked his elbow into Ephraim's gut and jerked away from the prince, his eyes sparkling wickedly. "And ye be damned now that ye harm a numeral of Paradise."

This made little sense, although nothing made any sense in this horrific place. Ephraim blinked rapidly to try and clear his pounding head and felt a fist collide with his jaw. The sudden force knocked him to the ground, his mouth filling with the metallic taste of blood, his blazing eyes turning to Cat's body, yet it wasn't the same small boy he had been talking with moments ago.

"Ye be no match without a weapon, be ye?" Cat snarled through his elongated teeth, his eyes glistening. _Monster _was the only word that could describe the hideous form Ephraim was staring down at; a subhuman creature whose thick claws flexed dangerously and whose red eyes cut through the darkness like lanterns.

Ephraim was not afraid of monsters, by any means. He had killed dozens of them with no fear when in combat with them, but now . . . Now he lacked a weapon of any kind and his foot was broken, crippling him. And he was staring at a monster who could assume a human guise, one who looked like he could tear him limb from limb in an instant.

Still, he had to steady his nerves as he stared into Cat's pitiless eyes, and the deformed creature merely chuckled darkly. "Ye be brave, young King? Brave, nay, ye be fool-hearted says I. Stupidly foolish, says I, and I say truth, young King."

"You're the foolish one, coward," Ephraim said coldly, balling his gloved hands into tight fists. "Armed with claws _and _a knife against an unarmed man?"

"I be not interested in slaying ye like a lamb. Ye be of more worth than food, and I be not interested in flesh." Cat threw down his knife and stood on the balls of his feet so that he could look Ephraim in the eye. "Ye, though thine flesh be too tainted with vice."

Unsteady on his broken foot, Ephraim grabbed the fallen knife as Cat continued speaking, his voice calm and even. "Ye abandoned thine family just when war arrived. Ye allowed another man to claim ye father's life, whilst ye battled for glory? Glory, or be it carnage?"

"Shut up." Ephraim's heart was pounding in his ears. Damn it; it wasn't true! He'd left Renais to help defeat Grado, not for anything else. He'd left to save his home country, and his family.

"Did thou leave a country with the elite of an army so that thou could fulfill lust? Lust for battle, for the feel of playing creator and committing the vice of murder? Did thou enjoy silencing those who harmed ye, and those that didn't?"

"SHUT UP!"

Cat laughed in his sick manner. Why were those words, those untrue accusations, making fear enter Ephraim's mind for the first time in so long? He wasn't a warmonger, he knew that instinctively, but . . . DAMN IT!

"There once was a young child who was poor in studies and fine athletically, like thyself, young King. This child was tormented for laziness and lack of intelligence, such as ye was when ye was a childe?"

Sure, Eirika and Lyon had teased him for his poor marks in Father MacGregor's classes, but tormented? He was never tormented. Still, his shaking fingers were clutching the knife's hilt too tightly.

"This childe, a girl-child, was so miserable that she could not last another day without extracting revenge on those who harmed her. Thus this girl-childe did. Fifty paid the price of their crimes, their vices, their sins. And two who taunted her . . . Two were pierced with a lance in a manner identical to how ye silence humans." Cat's smile, even though it seemed impossible, stretched wider.

Ephraim shut his eyes tightly to steady his nerves and convince himself that he was nothing like that. No, he killed people only in self-defense and in defense of his country. He didn't kill for revenge; he didn't enjoy killing people.

If that was true, if his thoughts were true, then why the hell did some small part of him think that what Cat was saying was correct?

"I speak truth. Ye be lusting for blood, for joys of war and battle. I speak truth, ye murderer."

"Shut up . . ." Ephraim's mind was abuzz with pain and confusion as he sank to his knees, barely noticing the pain from his broken foot. He should be stronger then this. He was the leader of the army of Renais; he should be able to deal with something as trivial as this . . .

"Ye be needing to find the Engel of Music, if ye wishes to pay for thou's transgressions. The Engel gives all redemption." With that, Cat left Ephraim by the well with his features returning to those of a human boy with the sickening sound of cracking bone and his off-key singing.

The Prince of Renais stared at the knife he clutched in his palm with misted eyes, trying to gather his thoughts and ease the doubt that echoed in his mind.

* * *

It was a small cemetery, far removed from the main town and rarely visited by anybody. In recent years, with the fifty murderers committed by Alice McGee – the Red Queen, as the media had named her – the graveyard had seen a lot of visitors, but now it was rare that anybody came, except for the undertaker who patrolled the grounds.

Today was different. A young woman was starring up at the carved marble statue of an angel before her, angry tears trickling down her freckled cheeks and a bouquet of snowflake lilies in her quavering hand. She was not a pretty woman, with a shapeless body and a face befitting a farm girl, but she was famous for her singing, as her sister Mina had been.

The plaque beneath the angel statue was carved perfectly, with graceful handwriting that seemed impossible to get onto stone. The plaque, as the woman read, was for a Wilhelmina Christine Moore, who had been taken from the world when she was only sixteen. The woman's hand shook violently and her breathing grew ragged as she recalled the reason Mina was dead.

She had been given the lead role in a play, a role that she had wanted and strived for. The role of a lovesick opera singer in a musical she had loved since childhood, and Mina had had the voice of the angel that now marked her grave. Mina Moore had died because the other actress who had strived for that role had been Alice fucking McGee.

Mina had been murdered because some rich little snot had wanted to play the lead role in a play!

The woman looked up at the angel's face, unable to keep tears of rage from spilling down her face. She could still hear Mina sing for that role in the play, but she'd never sing again. She'd never smile, never date, never marry . . . All she could do now was feed the worms.

"I'll avenge you, Mina," the woman said, choking on her tears as she laid the bouquet on the base of the angel's feet. "I'll tear McGee limb from limb. I'll tear out her throat like she did to yours!"

The government didn't do anything. They would have given McGee the pleasure of a lethal injection, and she would have been there to see McGee die, but she had been placed to rot in an asylum all her life instead. No retribution; no payment for any of the victim's families. Why was that, she asked, why did divine redemption pass on Alice? It was because her mummy could pay the government and control where her daughter went.

_Money does make this goddamn world go round_, the woman thought bitterly. _Go round and round, like a toy top for the rich._

The woman thought back to the morning when she had discovered McGee's handiwork; that evil morning last year. The image of Mina's bedroom flooded the woman's mind.

The sight of the white room, red with blood from her baby sister, had been filled with sunlight when she had entered the scene, wondering innocently why Mina hadn't been down to breakfast yet.

Mina's body had been placed delicately on her bed, with her hands folded over her chest and her throat gone from her body. Her face was full of fear, her mouth frozen and eyes wide and pale. She had already been dolled in black, fit for a funeral, and the knife that ended her life was still in her mutilated neck.

But there had been words painted on the wall in Mina Moore's own blood, a single phrase that nobody had been able to understand. McGee never said what it meant and it made the woman's blood boil to know that the message would forever be illegible to her.

_Siegmund and Sieglinde. The Twins of Renais._

_We Guard the Gate._

"With God as my witness," the woman hissed through clenched teeth, "I'll kill McGee and find these Twins of Renais. They must have had something to do with your death—accomplices or something, I just know it. I'll avenge you, Mina, even if it means that I'll take the electric chair that should have been McGee's fucking throne." Her eyes flashed as she marched from the graveyard, her voice hard and full of ice. "I swear it."

She, Megan Christine Moore, would make Alice McGee and those Twins of Renais pay for killing fifty innocents. She'd make them pay for killing her sister, even if she went to jail or died in the attempt.

_**I do not own Fire Emblem, Nintendo does. I own all original characters.**_


	5. The Jabberwock

_**Chapter V**_

_**The Jabberwock**_

How long she was held by the trees, Eirika didn't know. Since the sparse bits of sky she could see through the wide canopy above her were still splintered, she had absolutely no way of knowing how many hours had passed. Her body had gone numb quite some time ago, and her vision was fading in and out from blood loss which had long since stopped. All Eirika could do was listen to her pounding headache and try and make sense out of this seemingly senseless place.

She knew Alice was responsible for her being here. The girl had mentioned the name 'Paradise' more then once in their very brief meeting, and whenever Eirika thought of Lyon being responsible for this

. . . She didn't let her mind stray into that area.

"Isn't this fun, misses!" she heard Joshua shout from her left (the tree was holding her so tightly to the trunk that she couldn't turn her head), "I do wonder, wonder where we'll go!"

Eirika inhaled a brief, sharp breath of air and, once again, tried to break the hold this demonic tree had over her. The only thing her struggling succeeded in was weakening herself even further and causing great scratches up and down her legs. It was humiliating that she, who expected to defeat the Demon King Formortiis, was being held at the mercy of _trees_. Eirika knew that she would never be telling her brother or any soldier in their army about this event.

The tree suddenly dropped its hold upon her, and Eirika felt her left ankle twist underneath her as she fell to the leafless ground in a heap. At the pain in her ankle, she bit down on her lip to keep from crying out; then stood up as quickly as she could, looking around with as much courage and pride as she could muster in her condition.

She and Joshua were now in an odd, almost ritual-like clearing in the forest. A perfect ring of trees – holly trees, she noticed, with white berries instead of red – surrounded them and springy, vibrant green grass was planted beneath Eirika's feet.

The clearing stood out so vividly in the forest because its trees and its grass were so very much alive when everything else in the woods had been dead. Several small lines of flowers crisscrossed in the circle of grass and Eirika felt a bizarre mixture of paranoia, hatred, and adrenaline rush through her veins upon recognizing what type of flowered plant was growing.

Belladonna; arranged in lines similar to a five-point star.

"I'd prefer hemlock myself, but Miss. Bella asked that Miss. Donna be planted and not Mr. Hem and Mr. Lock," a voice, perhaps that of a little girl, echoed in the clearing.

Reflexively, Eirika reached at her side again for the absent rapier that was not there and looked around for the person who had just spoken. It sounded like a little girl had just talked, but she was quickly realized and reminded herself that this was a so-called 'Paradise' and nothing in it had made logical sense so far.

The voice giggled obnoxiously; a sound akin to the bells that Eirika kept hearing, though at the same time similar to a banshee's screech of joy.

"My, my, my, my, my. Aren't you a funny one Miss. Lady? I like funny people, but I'm afraid there aren't any around anymore. The funniest I've met is Miss. March and Miss. White and Miss. Mad."

"Show yourself, ghost!" Eirika shouted, braver then she felt.

She heard the giggling voice give a long, low sigh and spotted someone jumped down from one of the holly trees; she didn't see which particular one, however. At first, she thought that it was a small girl, no older than five or six years old, but a closer look revealed the child to be, not a girl, but, in fact, a boy.

The boy very small and slim, with a round face and long hair tied back with a very large bow. He wore a stiff uniform and long coat Eirika had never seen before, and his almost feline green eyes were obscured by a large hat. What really caught Eirika's attention was not his feminine appearance or odd clothing, but that in his hands he held a very familiar sword to Eirika; the Sieglinde.

"My name's not Ghost, Miss. Lady," the boy said hotly, though his voice was that of the taunting little girl, "Its . . . stupid, I forgot it!"

"That's a funny name!" Joshua shouted, causing Eirika to jump and turn around to spot the Prince of Jehanna sitting cross-legged in one of the holly trees, looking down upon the princess and the boy with wide, glazed over eyes and a delusional smile upon his face.

"Little boy," Eirika said, very stiffly and formally, as she turned round to face the boy again, "Please give me the sword. It's mine, and I lost it some time ago."

She wasn't surprised when the boy laughed loudly in his girlish way and shook his head.

"Nope, nope, nope!" he said, waving a finger hypnotically, "I want to play a game with you for three prizes!" He held up four fingers, and suddenly snapped two of them. "Jabberwock! That's me name, can't believe I forgot!" He laughed again, and Eirika could feel a headache forming in her temples from the giggling laughter.

"Please," she said again, "Just give me the sword."

The boy narrowed his brilliantly blue eyes, which made Eirika frown. Had they not been green a moment before?

"Not until we play a game," he said, so icily that the hairs on Eirika's neck stood on end, "It's going to be a 'game called guess' the number. I have a number in my head between one and one hundred, not one-o-one and not zero; nope, nope!" he tapped his temple with the hilt of Eirika's sword, which she was amazed he could lift, "If you guess the number correct, I give you two prizes. If you're up to five numbers below, I give you this thingamajig," – he held out the Sieglinde tauntingly – "And if you're up to five numbers above, I give you the other prize. If you're not any of them, I get to pick _my _prize." He tapped his chest importantly and nodded his head, so that slivers of his blonde hair fell across his tan face.

Eirika tried to think clearly. She needed the Sieglinde desperately if she had any hope of protection, for she was defenseless and Joshua (never mind his bewitchment) was likewise in lack of a weapon, but she was so poor at games of chance that she could not possibly hope to win, even _with _the odds Jabberwock proposed.

Inhaling deeply and speaking only to give her more time to think, she asked of the boy, "What is the other prize?"

"A friend of yours methinks and me believes," Jabberwock replied, nodding his head rapidly and resting the Sieglinde on his shoulder, "We can have another game to guess his name, since I know you won't recognize him!"

"Tell me his name," Eirika said in a hurry, balling her gloved hands into fists and speaking through clenched teeth. Her heart was pounding in her ears and fear was beginning to settle into her stomach. Why, oh Saint Latona _why _could nothing make sense in this evil place?

"We'll play a game to guess!" Jabberwock said firmly, his eyes – which were brown now – narrowing darkly, "A riddle guessing game." He snapped his heels together and cleared his throat.

"_Opposite to dawn when Mr. Sun rises, a wee bit earlier then dusk. Not quiet that, my friend, my friend, for another letter follows what the sun does, eighteenth from the final letter and eighth from which we begin again! Can you guess the star night's name_?"

. . . It made absolutely no sense, no sense whatsoever. However, Eirika mused, that was quickly becoming the norm for Paradise, so she resumed her thinking. What was she to do? She could guess a number and either claim her sword, claim one of her soldiers, claim both, or allow Jabberwock to claim a prize, which she felt might be her life?

Eirika sighed heavily and inhaled deeply, turning to the holly tree where the Prince of Jehanna was still sitting.

"Joshua, may I talk with you for a moment?" she asked quietly and quickly, trying to ignore the sound of her heart beating in her ears along with the sound of bells that she still kept hearing.

He snapped his eyes open so quickly that she jumped slightly and he leapt down from the tree with reflexes she was quite sure had nothing to do with his physique.

"But of course, misses!" he yelled obnoxiously, still smiling madly and still smelling strongly of belladonna. Eirika inhaled deeply to calm herself and grabbed his wrist tightly, staring deep into his glassy eyes.

"Please listen to me Joshua," she said, desperately, "I need my sword, and we need to rescue whoever this boy has captured. You're a fine gambler; I really need you to guess the number he's thinking of."

Joshua he blinked his clouded eyes and tilted his head on an angle. "You sound scared, misses!" he said.

"I am!" confessed Eirika, ashamed to hear a bit of hysteria creep into her words, "Joshua, please snap out of this! Don't you remember me? I'm Princess Eirika of Renais, from Serafew remember? Remember our army, our mission to kill the Demon King? . . . By Saint Latona, Joshua, remember your mother and snap out of this!"

Something flickered behind his glazed eyes, a shadow of panic and fear that made the hysteria and paranoia screech inside Eirika's heart. Her hands were beginning to shake and she gripped the swordsman's wrists tightly.

He was trying to fight whatever was manipulating his thoughts and actions, whatever spell that Alice had brought upon him, but Eirika's heart sank as the misted look reentered his burgundy glare. Was she supposed to guess herself and fail miserably?

"Is the number seven!" called Joshua, standing on tip-toes to exaggeratedly look over Eirika's shoulder. Her heart clenched with fear and she turned to watch Jabberwock's face, gripping Joshua's wrists tightly to stop herself from shaking with panic, though her eyes constantly traveled from the boy's face to that of the Sieglinde's sheath.

Finally, the riddler spoke.

"It was four. You win your friend, Miss. Lady."

His eyes sparkled with an emerald malice, and his voice suddenly changed. It was no longer the high-pitched and girlish one he had thus far used. It was a cold, fully mature female voice, slick and pitilessly empty. Eirika listened as, suddenly, the music of the bells died in her ears and her heart seemed to stop beating.

"But with every victory there is a price, and I hope you can pay it, my dear one, my dear one." He tapped the grass beneath them three times with his left heel and marched away, apparently disappearing beyond the holly trees. Eirika broke away from Joshua to stand just where Jabberwock had been, her teeth clamped tight together as she wondered where one of her companions was.

"Ooh, that doesn't look pretty . . ."

At Joshua's childish remark, Eirika turned around and felt the blood in her veins turn to ice. Her eyes widened violently and she felt bile rise in her throat as her knees buckled beneath her.

The proud Princess of Renais, who had killed so many to save her country and her continent, battled demons and survived the deaths of both her parents, could not quite stomach what lay before her, even though the figure was clearly alive and simply asleep.

Her hands shaking, she stared at the body of her soldier and uttered out the only words she could muster.

"By Saint Latona and Grado . . . By . . . _Oh__ Seth, no_ . . .!"

* * *

How long he had been sitting by the well, Ephraim knew not. The sky never changed as the time passed, and thus he had no way of tracking the time. It took a long time for him to snap out of the stupor Cat had left him in, and when he did so it was only just to stand and slip the knife the half-demon (for that was all he could call Cat at the time, considering that he had assumed a human appearance) had given him into his belt.

Myrrh had headed north when he had told her to run, and Ephraim had to make sure the Manakete had not gotten herself into any trouble. A small smile lit up his face at the care and attention he gave to the indigo-haired dragon of Darkling Woods, rather like he cared for Eirika. Despite the impressive age she had once told him was her own, he still inclined to think of her only as a little girl.

Bracing himself for pain, Ephraim hobbled north on his broken foot, wincing whenever he had to put weight upon it. Although he was skilled at many things – fighting, strategy, geography – medical aide was not amongst those skills. Eirika had been the one to learn how to dress a wound, and Lyon the one to know how to mend broken bones via magic, so he had paid great head to learning the skill.

Something caught his attention to his left and he turned quickly, grabbing the knife he had so recently slipped into his belt and feeling paranoia flood his veins again when it had so recently left. However, nothing was there.

"Don't go mad," he told himself firmly, still holding onto the knife but continuing onward. Finding Myrrh was the only thing occupying his thoughts now, which made Ephraim's heart sink several notches as a realization dawned on him. Did he care more for Myrrh's safety then he did for Eirika's? His own flesh and blood – his _twin_ for Saint Latona's sake! Ephraim paused for a moment to think, closing his eyes to do so.

What was most important to him? A great many things collided with his conscious mind at once. There was Eirika's well-being, the security of his army, the fate of his homeland, Myrrh's well-being, his country's legendary lance which he did not have in his possession. . . Where was _his_ safety concerned?

"Far near the bottom, probably," he told himself, and suddenly realized he was speaking to himself, "Damnit, now you really are going mad."

Ephraim opened his eyes and let out a soft yell of mingled surprise and alarm, his grip tightening on the knife in his hand.

He was no longer in those empty hills, but in a vast plane of white snow and gnarled holly trees. The sky was no longer pitch black and empty, but a space of white without the faintest hint of weather or of sun or moon. There was nothing – save for him and trees – there to even mark the place as reality.

Ephraim knelt down into the snow, tearing off a glove to grab a handful of the white powder and make sure it was real and that he was not hallucinating or insane.

It _was_ real, numbing his skin in a second. However, there was something beneath the snow that felt slick and smooth to the touch, and as Ephraim quickly cleared away an area he found it was ice.

. . . And somebody was beneath that ice.

A sickly frail figure, dressed in white clothing that rivaled the snow about him, and with skin to match. A woman with long blonde hair that floated about her oval face in waves, along with a cleric's veil, her blue eyes open wide and glassy, mouth agape and lips blue, starved for air . . .

"NATASHA!" he yelled, recognizing the Grado cleric in an instant.

Going on impulse, he dug the knife deep into the ice, pressing as hard as he could to create a crack with which he could create a large enough opening in the ice that would be wide enough to pull out the young woman. Blood was pounding in his ears, and his efforts turned to vain and the knife's flimsy blade broke to pieces against the ice.

"DAMNIT!"

He looked around. There was nothing he could find around him to use to break the ice; not a club or even a vaguely blunt object. Ephraim shook his head and, preparing himself for the pain, balled his hand to a fist and punched the ice as hard as he could muster. After a moment, he heard a faint cracking noise and saw that he had managed to create spider thin cracks across the surface.

Ignoring the agonizing pain that had blossomed in his knuckles, he continued to pound on the ice as hard as he could for several more minutes, trying to avoid looking at Natasha's ghostly face and deathly wide eyes . . .

There was a sharp cracking noise as a piece of the ice broke and snapped open, and Ephraim clawed the pieces away from the surface as fast as he could, to the point where it cut through his gloves and began to leave deep gashes in his hands.

His only thought was to get Natasha out of the water and not have her die, to not to be the last one to see the cleric in this forsaken nightmare of a place Alice deemed Paradise, not to be the one to cradle her body and give the service for her . . .

Freezing water splashed against his cheek, snapping him out of the ravaging mind Ephraim had fallen into. He plunged his half-gloved hand – for the razor sharp ice had torn the thick leather and fur to shreds – into the water and felt his fingers loose warmth in no more then a second.

He grabbed Natasha's wrist and heaved at her body, pulling her out of the water by the back of her neck. The cleric was still pale as death (the analogy left him feeling ill) as he dragged her out, but her body did not even show the slightest hint that she had been underwater. Her hair was dry, her clothes not the least bit damp or moist, yet Ephraim's hand was very numb with the task of pulling her out of the water.

"Natasha!" he yelled, grabbing her shoulders, the blood from his broken and cut knuckles staining her clerical white dress, "Natasha, please don't be dead! Wake up, please wake up!"

She _couldn't_ be dead. Even though he cared for the cleric purely on a friendly base, Ephraim could not bare it if she were dead. He could not – _would not – _ be the one to bury her and mourn her, not when her true lover was Saint-Latona-knows-where and the only other living thing about was the holly trees – which he wasn't even sure were alive.

"NATASHA, PLEASE WAKE UP!"

Her eyes, which had remained open, fluttered a bit, but she remained motionless otherwise. Panic taking a hold of him, Ephraim began to shake her violently, yelling incoherently at her – his ears had stopped listening to what he said.

Natasha suddenly raised a hand to touch something behind his shoulder, gasping for air as blood – but no water – poured to her lips. Life was flooding back into her pallid cheeks and eyes, but she remained misty and half-focused.

"Wings . . ." she coughed weakly, "I see wings . . . Lord . . . Prince Ephraim, is it . . .?"

"Natasha?" Ephraim asked quickly, and she looked at his face. What little coloring she had in her cheeks seemed to vanish as her eyes widened.

"Your Majesty, is it you?" she gasped, gripping his bloody hand very tightly and digging her nails deep into his calloused palm, "By Grado, please don't let it be you! You can't be . . ." More blood fluttered to her lips as she coughed again.

"Natasha, what's wrong?"

Was she dying?

Please don't let her die . . . Please don't let her die when I'm the only one around to mourn her . . .

"Your Majesty, please don't let it be true . . . Not like . . . Not like . . ." Natasha coughed violently and curled up slightly, still gripping his arm as if it were her last anchor to the world, "Not like Myrrh . . ."

"Myrrh?" Ephraim asked, very confused, "Natasha, what –?"

. . . But her body had suddenly fallen limp in his arms. Ephraim's eyes widened and he felt the color drain from his face as he gripped her shoulders even more tightly.

"NATASHA! NATASHA!"

_**I do not own Fire Emblem, Nintendo does. I own all original characters.**_


	6. Clinical Paranoia

_**Chapter VI**_

_**Clinical Paranoia**_

"What are you drawing there, Alice?"

For a long time, the girl seemed to ignore Tobias's question, more intent on carefully coloring her childish drawing with crayons. Although Alice was heavily medicated and seemed to be doing much better in terms of stability, Tobias would not let her visit with other patients or outside visitors – mainly due to the lack of a response from Radcliff's lawyers.

"Alice, may I see your picture?" he asked kindly, trying to look into her face and judge her reaction. She looked up at him suddenly, holding on tightly to the red crayon with a quavering, yet outrageously tight, grip.

"Why do you want to?" she asked quickly, pressing a hand over it so Tobias could only make out splotches of the scribbled green grass and blue sky, "You won't be able to understand it. You're an idiot."

He sighed and rubbed his temple, and pushed his glasses up to the bridge of his nose. It was a habit of his he usually did when dealing with difficult patients. His fiancée laughed at him about it all the time.

"I just would like to see it, Alice," he said, still keeping a smile on his face and a kind tone in his words. She removed her hand from the picture and showed it to him, though keeping a firm grip upon it so that Tobias could not hold it himself.

There were three smiling people in her drawing, the same sort of style of stick-figures that Tobias's niece drew in kindergarten. There were two people with pale blue hair, a girl and a boy if the length of their hair was anything to go by, and a blonde haired girl he knew to be Alice's representation of herself. It was one of those drawings where everything smiled, even the sun and the daisies, but Tobias's eyes drifted over the drawing to the grass on the ground where another sloppy stick-figure had been drawn.

A third girl with dark hair in buns and large Xs for eyes, a scribble of red beneath her that he guessed to be blood, lay on the ground with a thick black line through her chest.

"Can you tell me who these people are Alice?" he asked, pointing at the two blue-haired people, and the dark-haired girl. She frowned and looked at her drawing carefully, drawing her thin legs under her and then turning her icy leer to Tobias.

"Why do you care?" she asked icily.

"They look like nice people. Are they Ephraim and Eirika?" he asked, careful to pronounce the names exactly like Alice had said them. Slowly, she nodded and pointed at the two smiling figures.

"They're nice people, yes they are nice people," she said quickly. Her pale face began to grow ashen as she continued. ". . . But they don't seem to want to play with me right now. They want to play with their other friends more then they want to play with me."

"They don't sound like good friends then," Tobias said carefully, looking to where the nurse held the tray of syringes and sedatives. As he expected, Alice narrowed her eyes to slits when she looked at him and her voice was furious and icy.

"They're the best friends I ever had!" she snarled, "Better then Elizabeth and Justine and especially Caroline! Ephraim and Eirika have been my best friends for twelve years and they're better then any other damn person I've met!" In her anger, she snapped the red crayon that she held cleaning in half. "Even better then my parents!"

Tobias searched his mind for the victims of Alice McGee, and the only girls whose names matched the ones Alice had named had been her last three murders. All three were found dead one morning, of belladonna poisoning per the tradition of the Red Queen, and because of some witness accounts had pinpointed Alice as the last person to see the three girls alive, she'd been questioned and convicted of murder.

"But I know how to fix that problem," Alice had continued speaking, which snapped Tobias out of his reflections. She picked up a green crayon and began to fill in the many gaps of the picture's ground. "I have to make sure they like me best, and then Ephraim and Eirika will like me best as well!" she said, her voice taking on a delighted tone.

He nodded half heartedly as Alice beamed excitedly and pointed at the dark haired girl she had not yet named. "Who's this Alice?"

She chewed her lip and narrowed her eyes furiously, her voice becoming an apathetic monotone – a striking contrast to her previously chipper voice a few minutes before.

"That's nobody," she said, darkly.

"Why is she nobody?"

"She's bothersome. She's stupid, weak, pathetic. Draconian."

The last of the words stuck him odd. "Alice, draconian means strict, but you just said she was weak."

She didn't answer him. Instead, she stopped her coloring and began to fold the paper into a complex design – an origami bird, perhaps a crane or whatnot. Tobias was no expert on origami or birds. She grinned happily as she made the paper animal flap its wings, giggling as she did so.

"Birds are fun to play with, aren't they? They aren't very strong though, and my belladonna kills them so quickly," she lamented, avoiding eye contact with Tobias as she continued to play with the paper bird. She took a hold of each of the bird's wings and, in a quick motion, tore them off the body and laughed.

"Just like that! It's such a beautiful and wonderful plant and humans are so weak that they can't even stomach a few berries of it! Even an amount such as three is fatal, you know, to a mature human."

Tobias said nothing, and instead stood and took the chart from his nurse's tray and a pen from his pocket. She needed more medication, judging from those comments and the cruelty she'd shown to the paper bird. Alice looked over as Tobias wrote in her chart, watching as the young doctor clicked his pen and slipped it back into his coat pocket. She curled up on the chair, wrapping her arms around her legs, and speaking in a cold voice at him.

"Tell me, Dr. McArthur; are you familiar with the term lycanthropy?"

Tobias thought for a long moment before answering. He had studied the disease a bit in college, but honestly knew not much about it. Racking his brain for details, yet only came up with the basic facts: Clinical lycanthropy was where a human believed they could transform into an animal or possessed animalistic qualities, and luckily Tobias had never had to deal with any man whose insanity stretched to that point.

"Of course," he said to Alice, still smiling, "Is there something you want to tell me, something that your friends Eirika and Ephraim told you?"

She smiled slightly and brushed the ruined bits of her drawing off of the bed. "Don't pretend to diagnose me with that clinical crap, you moronic bastard. I mean _just plain old _lycanthropy. If it will suit your little mind better, call it therianthropy. If you don't, then just go back to your little office and wait for things to make sense again to you." She waved her hand to shoo him away, laughing hysterically. "You don't know much, and that's a fact."

"Give her some tranquilizer," Tobias told the nurse as he left Alice's room, waiting for the nurse to nod before shutting the door and walking down the sterilized halls of the Radcliff Asylum, wondering exactly who these two people – Ephraim and Eirika – were and why Alice never spoke badly of them.

Lonely children often imagined friends for themselves, yet Alice had certainly not been a lonely little girl. Her mother had thoroughly informed Tobias that her child was the ideal social butterfly, and he had to wonder exactly why she had slipped into insanity and began to kill people with her past. Respectable family, honor roll all through junior high and high school, class president, president of her honor's society, head cheerleader . . . The list went on and on and on.

No matter how much Tobias wished to claim otherwise, he was no expert on the mechanics of a human mind. He didn't know what caused her madness, but he had a strong feeling something had to do with these two hallucinations of hers – Eirika and Ephraim.

* * *

Ephraim tightly ground his teeth together, impatience and fear clouding his mind. He'd wrapped his bleeding and broken knuckles with pieces torn from his cape in makeshift bandages, and was now attempting to use two snapped branches of the holly trees to create a fire – a task made very difficult by his lack of knowledge on that subject. He had tried to duplicate what he remembered Forde and Orson doing when setting the campfire alight, and yet had not managed to accomplish even a single spark.

Natasha lay curled next to him, his cloak placed over her body for warmth. The cold didn't seem to be affecting her very much, since she never shivered with chills, whilst Ephraim could barely manipulate his fingers or feel his skin.

"Damnit," he swore, abandoning his task to try in favor of trying to gain movement back in his blood encrusted hands. All he wanted to do was to start a fire, never mind Myrrh or Eirika or even the whole of Magvel. Just a fire so he or Natasha didn't end up dead of hypothermia – although a small part of his mind wondered if she was still alive, for she was so still and lifeless.

He looked intently at the pale face of the cleric, at the blonde locks of hair surrounding her expressionless face, and thought on what she had said before passing out.

"_Wings . . . I see wings . . . Your Majesty, please don't let it be true . . . Not like . . . Not like . . . Not like Myrrh . . ."_

What exactly had those broken phases meant? Had Natasha seen Myrrh after she had run away from him, and had something happened to the Manakete? But yet, how could Natasha have seen Myrrh when she was trapped underneath the ice?

The question that was plaguing his mind, first and foremost, was; had Natasha seen _him_ with _wings_, just before she'd fallen unconscious?

Ephraim knew quite well the thought was laughable – he did laugh himself – for how exactly could he have wings? However, he did give a quick glance over his shoulder. There was nothing but the empty holster where he kept a spear or lance inside of upon his back and he returned to the task of attempting to start a fire.

This time, a small spark ignited in the pile of holly wood he'd been attempting to set ablaze and he gave a very large grin of happiness very unlike his usual grim expression. Blowing carefully on it so as to have the embers spread and strengthen, Ephraim sighed in the utmost happiness as the wood caught flame completely and he warmed his freezing hands to the fire. Slowly, feeling returned to the fingers attached to his injured knuckles.

While the fire was a great step towards survival, he had to wonder how long they could last. They had neither food nor water to sustain them. Humans could survive about four or five days without water, more without food, but it was a very bad idea if the past few hours (or minutes, or however the hell long they'd been in Paradise) were anything to go by.

"What –?" a soft, weak female voice said by his side, groaning a little.

The Prince of Renais gave a start and turned to look at Natasha, only to find the cleric moving slightly and blinking her bleary blue eyes up at him.

"Are you alright Natasha?" Ephraim asked of her quickly, eyeing her critically. She was rubbing her temple slowly, looking at him in a confused manner that quickly turned to fear.

"Prince Ephraim?" she asked sharply, clutching her both her own thin cloak and his to her throat.

He nodded hastily, making sure to neither move his injured hands or broken foot too much. "What's wrong?"

The fear left her face and she shook her head softly, her skin still pale. "I'm sorry, milord, but for a moment I saw something odd about your person." She looked from his face to his hands and gave a small scream at the sight of the bloody knuckles wrapped in pieces of thick cotton. "Saint Latona be praised, what happened to your hands!"

"It's fine Natasha, don't worry," Ephraim said quickly, hiding the wince as he fed the fire with a bit of kindling taken from the holly tree.

The cleric took no notice that he had even spoken and grabbed his badly damaged left hand. Slowly and carefully, with expertise taken from treating battlefield wounds, she took off the makeshift bandages and examined the deep gashes and dislocated bones in the knuckles.

"I have no elixir or salve to treat the wound, and no staff to mend the bone," Natasha said, more as a whisper to herself then to him, and took his hand in both of hers, "So this will hurt greatly, milord, but it is necessary if the bones are to be as they once were."

Ephraim was very familiar to pain, so he merely tensed his muscles tight as Natasha pressed hard on the knuckle bones to shift them back in their correct positions. He inhaled sharply through clenched teeth as she tended to the wounds, using strips torn from her white cloak to wrap the wounds better then he had done.

"What happened, Your Majesty?" she asked delicately, avoiding direct eye contact.

For some unexplainable reason, he did not wish to tell her how Natasha came to be in his company. Ephraim racked his brain for an excuse – that he did not wish her to worry, that he didn't think she would believe the outlandish tale – but his reply was simply, "Revenant. Alice left me without the Siegmund or Reginleif."

"Alice?"

Ephraim now looked at Natasha in confusion, trying to ease a creeping paranoia out of his mind. Why was he thinking that she was in league with that evil little girl and her evil little minion Cat? How could he even be sure Cat _was _in league with Alice?

"What's the last thing you remember before waking up near me?" he asked slowly and carefully, weaving her fingers together as she thought. Natasha's already light coloring went very pale.

"I remember I heard something strange when I woke up – a scream or shout, I think, when we were staying with Madame Radcliff in her manse, and I went to see what had happened. One of the maids at the house came up to me, and my memory's blurry after that."

He nodded dazedly, prodding the fire with a long shaft of wood. Why did some part of his mind deny Natasha's words to be true, and why couldn't Ephraim shake the paranoia and adrenaline from his veins?

The cleric brushed back several locks of her fair hair and drew her cloak tightly to her shoulders. "You look very pale. Perhaps I should take care of the fire while you rest?"

"I'm fine Natasha," he said, careful not to sound too quick or snappish. A defiant look entered her eyes, as it always did when dealing with the wounded. At that familiarity, Ephraim gave a long sigh of relief to himself and nodded before she could speak in an angry voice.

If only he had a lance with him, maybe the fear would relax and he'd stop wondering if Natasha was really Natasha. This was the first time Ephraim could recall in several years that he had been without a weapon of any kind. He didn't even have a knife to defend himself.

Positioning himself so that little pressure was put on his broken foot and drawing his cape tight around himself for warmth, the Prince of Renais fell into an uneasy sleep aided by exhaustion and fatigue.

His dreams were less than relaxing.

_Both Myrrh and Eirika were dying, their faces turning blue and eyes very pale with a starving lack of oxygen, and all he could do was stare at the two of them helplessly. He could either save Myrrh from the noose that bound her to a tree, or save Eirika by killing the faceless man who strangled her. Yet which was he to choose?_

"_Tick tock, ye murderer," said the simpering, happy voice of the half-demon Cat, who could not be seen._

_Ephraim couldn't choose. _

_Myrrh was young and innocent, and shouldn't die because of that innocence. It wasn't humane, it wasn't right._

_Eirika was his **twin** sister, his dearest friend. It would be immoral to let her die; against everything that Ephraim stood for._

_Who was more important?_

_**Side Note:**_

**_Clinical lycanthropy is a mental illness where a human believes that he/she can transform into another species – physical, mental, or spiritual. Lycanthropy itself is the mythical condition of being a werewolf, while therianthropy refers to any other type of magical transformation from human to animal._**

_**I do not own Fire Emblem, Nintendo does. I own all original characters.**_


	7. Over the River and Through the Woods

_**Chapter VII**_

_**Over the River and Through the Woods**_

For several minutes, Eirika wondered whither or not she was going to faint. Gulping down several breaths to try to ease the chill from her bones, the Princess of Renais hurried quickly to the side of her general and guardian.

Seth was pale and sickly looking, his crimson hair such a contrast with his pallid, grey-hued skin that the knight almost appeared to be a corpse. There was a fine trickle of blood slipped down his temple, dark bruising on his face and cheeks, his arm was bent at such an angle that the thick leather of his jerkin had been split and bone was visible from the wound . . .

Nothing a healer's staff and several days of rest would not fix.

Eirika's fingers shook as she ran her fingers along the deep gouge marks in his armor's breastplate – as if made by a Gwyllgi or a Mauthe Dog, and the wound from Valter's lance in his side had reopened, so that blood was seeping across the belladonna plants and grass. Puncture wounds, as if made by the tooth or fang of the same canine monster, were embedded so deeply into his neck so deep that Seth was clearly struggling for breath.

Yet no monster would have done the deed. The wounds were too carefully positioned for painful – yet nonfatal – injuries, and yet no human could have inflicted them, for the wounds were definitely those of an animal or monster.

So what manner of beast had done this to Seth?

"Joshua! Saint Latona's Light, Joshua, come help!" Eirika yelled, not caring if hysteria was in her voice and in the tears now flowing down her cheeks. Seth needed medical attention immediately, and she would give up an arm and leg before she let her general remain stranded in this demonic place.

At the sound of his name, Joshua turned quickly to Eirika and beamed widely at her from under the brim of his hat, like an eager child. "Of course, of course! What shall I do, misses!"

"Will you just shut up and help me? Seth is injured and needs a healer immediately!" she said quickly, gripping the Lunar Brace very tightly with her right fingers. What could she do? Seth was far too injured to be moved, and she didn't trust Joshua in his befuddled state to watch the still body alone or to go and find help.

The swordsman tapped his chin with his finger, rocking back and forth on the balls of his feet for several moments. Finally, he snapped his fingers together and grinned widely. "Is this man in need of help, misses?"

Eirika finally chose to ignore him and ran her hands through her hair. What was she to do? What _could_ she do? Ephraim knew how to handle situations like this, not her. She panicked too easily, and it left her mind filled with horrible thoughts instead of anything useful.

Inhaling a shuddering breath and grasping her fingers tight in fists, she racked her mind for the best decision. Eirika doubted that Joshua could find help when he could barely follow her conversations with him and that placed all the responsibility on her.

"Make sure nothing happens to him!" she snarled at Joshua very slowly and clearly, following the only plan her mind could come up with. He blinked, confused for a moment, then nodded jerkily and saluted dramatically. "Aye aye misses!"

Summoning all the energy that remained in her, Eirika hurried from the clearing and through the forest as fast as her legs could carry her. Blood was pounding in her ears, panic in her heart. There had to be a village somewhere in this damned place, some person close by who could tend to Seth's wounds, anybody . . .

"Trouble, trouble! The lady's in trouble!"

The RenaitianPrincess turned to see who had just spoken with that cawing, estranged voice, and, in doing so, her foot caught an exposed root of a tree. With a yell, she fell forward, scraping her hands on the ground and bit the inside of her cheek, causing warm blood to flood her mouth. Swallowing, she looked up angrily at the trees.

Birds – starlings, sparrows, and hawks prominent – lined several branches, tilting their heads crookedly to watch her with eyes whose colors were not naturally possible on those birds. Several of them chanted in broken, raspy speech, "Trouble, trouble! The lady's in trouble!"

"Shut up!" Eirika snarled at them, her fear and anger at this whole situation causing her to break into another outburst of tears.

_Nothing_ made sense in Paradise. The sky was splintered in various weather patterns, a single clearing in the dead forest was alive, Joshua was useless, Seth was injured and dying, she had no weapon, her brother was lost . . .

Eirika sobbed, clutching her temples in anger at her crying. If she couldn't even hold it together in a situation like this, how could she ever expect to face Lyon – even if he was possessed and his soul long dead – or rebuild Renais to its former glory?

"Lady's crying! The lady's crying!" chirruped the birds in their raspy monotones. She clutched her head harder, praying that this nightmare would end, that she'd wake up in reality . . .

"Why's the lady crying? Who made the pretty lady cry?"

"SHUT UP!" she screamed at them, spitting out a mouthful of blood and wiping her mouth on the back of her hand in a very unladylike manner. Eirika pushed herself to her feet, but her legs could not support her and she immediately collapsed back to the ground.

"The lady shouldn't cry! Lady should be helped!"

Upon hearing this, Eirika looked up. She forced herself to stop crying and inhaled several times in order to bring her heartbeat back to normal. Biting her lip, she thought for a moment. Was this a chance for help, or a trap laid out by somebody? Taking another deep breath in order calm herself, she spoke in as clear and as smooth a voice she could muster.

"Can you tell me where I can find a healer?" she asked quietly and the birds exploded in mimicry, their words of broken enunciations.

"Healer, healer!"

"Find a healer!"

"Just tell me where a healer is!" she called back at them.

One of the hawks in the flock of birds fluttered forward, rustling its copper plumage importantly. "Healer, healer!" it jabbered in a mockery of human speech and took off from the branches, skillfully moving through the trees.

Was she to follow the bird? Her better judgment told her it was very obviously a trap, considering that was the same direction Jabberwock had taken when he had left Eirika and Joshua with Seth's body. Yet, what other option did she have? Left unattended, Seth's wounds would kill him.

She stood weakly and followed the hawk through the trees of the barren and decayed forest, her mind ablaze with doubts and questions yet numb at the same time. Her hands were clutched tight into fists at her sides, her gait slow from the slightly aching ankle she had landed on when the tree dropped her, her eyes focused on the traveling form of the hawk in front of her.

Where was Ephraim at this moment? Was he in as much of a problem as she was, or was he even . . . ? Was she even in Paradise, or was this simply a delusion of Eirika's?

That idea would have made sense, had not the sting of copper blood salted her tongue and teeth and her ankle ached in pain. She swallowed the last bit of blood from her cut and paused as the hawk landed on a tree, crying out, "Healer, healer!"

There was a small river just below where the hawk had landed, the water slow moving and crystalline. Yet something about the water smelled odd and made her dizzy, so she held her breath and knelt down to it, furrowing her brow in confusion at what lay under the gurgling water.

Something small and dark stood out against the water, and she grabbed it quickly. It was a small bottle, but one Eirika recognized immediately with a small smile of delight. Healing elixir, its seal unbroken and that of the Church of Saint Latona.

Just seeing the signet brought a sense of normality and reality back to Eirika. She inspected the bottle carefully, and frowned darkly as she spotted a single phrase scratched upon the bottom in large, gothic lettering.

_Chloroform in the water._

Although Eirika didn't have the slightest clue at what chloroform was, there was no chance that she could have figured it out. She could barely focus her mind on the most menial of tasks. Whatever was making her dizzy was getting stronger, so that her mind had all but shut down. Just before Eirika's mind went blank, she heard the hawk speak again, but not in its broken quality of mixed enunciations.

"Milady!"

* * *

"I'd like to see Alice McGee, please."

The receptionist looked up from her work, an eyebrow raised over jeweled glasses. Megan Moore looked very out of place in the sterile waiting room of the Radcliff Asylum of Psychiatry, her clothes being wrinkled and her hair being uncombed, and the room bore not even the slightest speck of dust.

"Nobody is allowed to see McGee," the receptionist said in a bored monotone, smacking her lips annoyingly with chewing gum, "Is there anything else I can do for you?"

"I thought she was given permission to have visitors," Megan said slowly and darkly, narrowing her eyes. She had been here last week and the receptionist then had told her that McGee would be given visiting hours in a week's time.

"Doctor's orders; no visitors," chirruped the blonde woman stubbornly, returning to her task of filing the sharp points of her nails. Megan narrowed her eyes at the woman but could do nothing else but leave the building in an angry fume.

So much for her interrogation of Mina's murder, thought the young woman nastily as she pulled her scarf tighter to her neck. Winter always brought a piercing chill to the city, and Megan had a long walk back to her apartment. Right after Mina's death, she had moved out of her childhood house and into a small flat in the uptown, mostly to just get away from that blood-stained bedroom that haunted her thoughts.

She had not been able to find any traces of two people named Sieglinde and Siegmund, the twins of Renais, in the past few weeks of searching but she honestly had not expected to. Their names had been painted on the wall of a madwoman, and just by the unusual quality of the two names, Megan was sure they were just pseudonyms.

"Goddamn the insane," she muttered angrily, shoving her hands deep in the pockets of her coat and kicking a pile of grey snow next to the sidewalk angrily, "And Goddamn McGee."

"McGee?"

Megan turned around quickly at the sound of a male voice, adrenaline flooding her body. A young man was sitting in the alleyway in between a bakery and a bookstore, his clothing rags and dark skin gray with the cold. He wheezed and drew himself tighter into a ball for warmth.

"I know a McGee," he said, "Alice, ain't it?"

"How do you know her?" she asked, eyes widening slightly.

The homeless man grinned with yellow, broken teeth that made Megan gag in disgust. "She killed my brother, God bless him."

". . . She killed my little sister," Megan said softly, and the man nodded so that his hair fell over his face and obscured his eyes. He began to cough violently and wheezed out to Megan, "Pity, ain't it?"

She drew her coat tighter to her, thinking deeply. Perhaps this man knew some about these Siegmund and Sieglinde people. Maybe Alice had left a clue at his brother's murder like she had at Mina's . . . ?

"Did . . . she leave some writing?" Megan asked softly and the man gave his yellow grin again.

"O' course, o' course. Ain't you read the papers; she left a message at every murder? Even I knew that," he laughed slightly which ended in him coughing violently again, droplets of blood slipping down his lips. Megan knelt down by the young man and held her hand out.

"My apartment's close by, why don't you come inside?"

This was perhaps the stupidest thing she had ever done. She was almost certain to get robbed by this man, or become involved in something he obviously had done, but he knew some more about McGee that would definitely be useful in her mad search to find these two accomplices of hers, and his information would be of no use to Megan if the man were dead or hospitalized.

He gave another wide, happy grin and nodded, standing weakly and doubled over slightly. "'Ow kind of you, ma'am," he said happily, and Megan nodded. She walked slowly with her hands in the pocket, the homeless man following her and occasionally coughing violently.

"Wot's your name, mam?" he asked politely, almost overly so. She avoided looking directly at him when she answered softly. "Megan Moore."

"Then Mina'd be your sis, right?" he said knowingly, "Wit' the message _Siegmund and Sieglinde, the twins of Renais, we guard the gate_, right?" She turned around to look at him quickly, to see that he was still smiling widely and pulling his thin jacket tighter to his skeletal body.

"How do you know that?" she asked quickly, and he tapped his temple delicately.

"Great memory. I dun know much, but I remember all o' it perfectly," he said happily, and then began to cough again. "In the papers, that message wuz."

"What's your name, anyway?" she asked; her muscles still tense and voice quick. "Bob Catherine, mam," he said, bowing obnoxiously low, "My brother was Sean Catherine."

The name was slightly familiar to Megan, and she vaguely recalled the news report about an eight-year-old boy's murder some time after Mina's. She flexed her hands to get warmth back in their numbing fingers. "I'm very sorry about your brother. I know what it feels like."

"Can't change the past, can we?" Bob said weakly, "Jus' like to know what she meant by what she wrote, ya know, like who dem Siegmund and Sieglinde people are."

"Did she write anything about them at your brother's murder?"

"Blunt woman, ain't ya?" he laughed sadly, shivering as he did so. "Lesse . . ." He tapped his chin in thought and began to recite something in a faraway tone of voice.

"_Ephraim and Eirika of Renais. Lyon of Grado. We Guard the Gate.'_"

Renais. The Gate.

That was same place as where Siegmund and Sieglinde had been from, if Megan had interpreted the message correct. Had Alice meant that there were five accomplices to her crimes, Sieglinde and Siegmund, and now these Ephraim and Eirika and Lyon people? Then again, what had Megan expected, explicit directions and an explanation for who these people were and why McGee had murdered all those innocent people?

_Well, she was a psychotic bitch,_ Megan told herself nastily.

Yet, both murders told the message 'We Guard the Gate'. What gate? Why guard it?

"Well then, ain't ya going to show me to your home, Miss. Moore?" Bob asked in a guttural voice, still grinning widely as he looked at Megan. She sighed heavily but nodded nonetheless.

_Goddamn humanitarianism,_ she snarled angrily to herself and continued to lead Bob Catherine to her apartment, shoving her hands deeper into her pockets.

_**I do not own Fire Emblem, Nintendo does. I own all original characters.**_


	8. Black Wonderland

_**Chapter VIII**_

_**Black Wonderland**_

A pair of pale cerulean eyes, darkened by fatigue and stress, snapped open immediately as Prince Ephraim of Renais awoke from his weak attempt at sleep. He sat up immediately, holding his freezing shoulders tight and let out a small sigh of relief when he saw that his surroundings were still the empty snow-covered field, and that the fire was still burning by him and Natasha's sleeping, shivering form.

He flexed his stiff hands, ignoring the dull pain that shot through them, looking at the empty sky above. There was still no way of telling what the time was, or what direction was north. Any direction could prove to lead to civilization, or miles of walking culminating in death.

Ephraim sighed slightly as he wracked his brain for what he should do. The only thing he could think of was to choose and hope that some town or village – something, anything – lay at the end of the long walk. Yet, there was too great a chance of death, and Ephraim would eat his own arm before he died due to some twisted little girl's idea of a game.

"Does ye wish to know where thine path lays?"

Struggling to his feet in shock and turning around quickly, Ephraim's eyes fell upon the dark and smiling face of a small, dark skinned and haired little boy, bedecked with braided wreaths of hemlock and aconite on his wrists and head and a coat caked with dark mud. This was the same little boy who had broken Ephraim's foot back by the well and demanded Myrrh in exchange for information, who had told Ephraim his name was Cat.

How long had the half-demon been there, watching him and Natasha sleep? Hours, minutes, seconds?

The prince tightened his firsts, ignoring the sharp and searing pain that shot through the knuckles and the warm blood that spilled out of reopened wounds.

"Where's Myrrh?" snarled Ephraim quietly, shifting weight off of his injured foot. Cat's grin stretched slightly.

"Thine human not human is safe; ye'd best not concern thyself with trivial matters," he responded simply.

Ephraim, his fists tightening to the point where his nails had begun to dig into his calloused palms, spoke in a colder voice. "But where is she?"

Cat's dark eyes glittered and his smiled stretched as he chuckled darkly. "Perhaps thou might concern thyself more with the fate of thy sister, cyning?"

He couldn't even remember deciding to move.

All Ephraim could remember was that, quite suddenly, he was charging at Cat with his teeth clenched and his fist swinging into his smiling face. The smaller boy caught the blow so easily that Ephraim nearly collided with him. Cat's grip was so firm that he was beginning to lose feeling in his fingers.

With that same maddening grin that stretched from ear to ear, Cat bent Ephraim's wrist as far back as it would go before severing the hand completely from his arm.

Ephraim would not let himself scream in front of Cat, but could barely keep the scream inside his throat. A violent wince and moan did pass his lips, as much as he would have liked otherwise. Sharp, searing pain ran through every muscle of his arm and shoulder, every inch of his body connected that was in some way to that wrist – as he drew the injured limb back to him, spotting bone and muscle under the broken skin.

"Where is Eirika? What did you do to her!" he snarled furiously to Cat, voice breaking with pain and fury. Cat laughed, a long and cold sound that still sounded mirthful and happy, and bore deep into Ephraim's eyes with his black ones.

"Thine sister be safe, thou shalst not worry for her. The Starlings watch her, and thine gambling companion, and thine sister's knight, all be safe with thine Starlings."

Ephraim didn't believe for a moment the false sincerity that Cat spoke with, but he recognized the other names Cat named; Joshua and Seth. How true the words were, he had no idea, and he had a firm suspicion that Eirika was alone.

"_Where is Eirika!_" Ephraim snarled as loud and as venomous as he could muster, drawing back his other hand – the one whose knuckles had broken when prying Natasha from beneath the ice – and bringing it down into Cat's stupid grinning face. This time, the blow made contact, and sent Cat sprawling across the snow in a flurry of white powder and crimson blood.

It took Ephraim a moment to realize the blood was from his own knuckles.

Cat hit the ground much like his namesake would have – on all fours, nails digging into the ice beneath the snow. His grin was still in place even though it was evident his jaw was broken. He stood up slowly, and his jaw reverted back into place as he began to speak.

"Ye does so enjoy violence, true sire?" Cat laughed, cracking his wrist delicately, "What would thine sweet sister think? What would thine dear, dead mother think of the evil cynn she bore, so afflicted with thine vice of wrath?"

"Where is my sister," Ephraim said as coldly as he could, grabbing the front of Cat's coat with his less injured hand, "And where is Myrrh?"

"Who does thine lufian more, cyning?" It took Ephraim a moment to decipher Cat's odd words, and they only made him grip the boy's neck harder then he should have. It had no affect on his speech, and he continued. "Thine lufian the human not human Myrrh more, or thine cynn Eirika more? Thou thinkith it be Myrrh more." He grinned wide. "The vice of lust."

"_Where are they!_" he spat venomously into Cat's face, his beyond-damaged fist unwillingly swinging itself into the side of Cat's face. Again, the boy caught the wrist and forced the palm and fingers apart. Without much effort and with that smile still plastered wide on Cat's face, he cracked all the fingers in Ephraim's hand with a loud, sickening snap.

Ephraim ground his teeth together, holding back the yell of pain that wanted to escape his throat desperately. He dropped Cat to the ground, cradling his ruined hand gingerly. All feeling had left that part of Ephraim's body, and he doubted how much good Natasha's staff would do to mend the limb.

Standing up from the ground once again, Cat began to speak. He was no longer the dark little boy that he he'd been a few minutes ago, but the monster Ephraim had seen by the well and forest with Myrrh. His voice was distorted and different then what it had been simply moments ago – high, girlish, younger then it should have been for even somebody his apparent age. Ephraim recognized it in an instant, although he had hardly heard the voice being spoken before.

Alice.

"This is my Paradise," whispered Cat in Alice's voice, walking towards Ephraim with a long-talon hand raised high. "You're going to play hide and seek with me in my Paradise."

He dug the claw-taloned hand through Ephraim's side, quicker than he could move with so many of his bones broken. He winced, preparing for the world to go dark –

Ephraim blinked rapidly to clear his fogged mind. The world around him no longer the white snow field he had found Natasha in, nothing even remotely like it. He, along with the sleeping form of Natasha still bound in Ephraim's cloak, sat on the hard ground of a forest floor, strewn with dead leaves and broken tree limbs.

He felt as if his head was going to explode with confusion. Could he not stay in one area for more then a few hours (or days)? Ephraim grabbed handfuls of his hair, trying to ease the pounding pain in his head with deep and heavy breaths.

Something made no sense, not just this whole evil place. Ephraim pulled his left hand away from his head, staring at it in a mix of horror and shock. He knew Cat had snapped the wrist so far that he had _seen _the damned muscle under the skin.

Now, he flexed the hand as easily as he done every day of his life. Not even the knuckles were broken from when he had broken the ice to pull the cleric out of water, and the same was true for the knuckles of his other hand. Even his gloves were mended . . .

Ephraim inhaled sharply to calm himself. Never before had he felt so scared, not since he had been very young, not since his mother had died. Several deep breaths stopped him from shivering in nerves and fear, and the Prince of Renais turned towards Natasha's still form next to him. She still breathed and he felt the steady rhythm of her heartbeat in her neck.

Lifting up Natasha carefully and standing (Ephraim noted unpleasantly that the foot Cat had broken had also been healed by some divine or demonic force), he began to walk north as fast as he could. He remembered Forde once telling him that heading north usually led to civilization, or at least to the signs of civilization. Ephraim doubted how true the advice was, but he had nothing else to go on.

Moonlight trickled down through the tree branches above, illuminating the pink blossoms of hollyhock and oleander that surrounded the clusters of dead tree roots. There was a faint, sickly scent wafting through the trees, rather like heavy wine. Ephraim could barely breathe without swallowing too much of that thick smell.

Who was Cat serving, if anybody? Was it Alice McGee, and if so, why did she send a servant to toy with him like this? Why did Cat insult and make Ephraim question his sanity so violently?

No, because he _was _sane. That much he knew and was certain of. He was sane and he was human, and he was going to murder Cat in as violent a way as possible the second he laid hands upon a weapon.

The thought left Ephraim with a bit of a smile as he continued walking through the forest with Natasha's sleeping body in his arms.

* * *

Eirika's mind was groggy as it woke up painfully, her senses and body dulled to the point where she wondered if they worked at all. She lay still for a long time, listening to her dim breathing and heartbeat that echoed in her ears.

She flexed her fingers, sensation fluttering back to them in broken measures. After several minutes of blank numbness, colors flickered back to Eirika and she sat up from the twisted position she had been lying in.

The second her vision returned to her completely, Eirika sat up quickly and gave a loud, shrill scream of fright, adrenaline pulsing through her veins.

A pair of dark, small red eyes had been watching her intently, and the hawk who owned those eyes fluttered its red feathers uncomfortably. It was the same hawk who had led Eirika to the riverside, though the river was nowhere to be seen.

Neither, for that matter, was the forest it had run through.

Eirika sat up slowly, her eyes wide as she looked around the graveyard that she had been sleeping in. The air was stagnant, and smelt of lime and decay, and was filled with an uncountable number of tombstones. She sat up uneasily, shivering violently when she felt the cold marble she had been lying upon.

A marble altar. The sort that sacrifices had been made upon long ago.

The hawk sat perched atop one of the broken trees, continually rustling its feathers. It watched Eirika with the sharp watch of a parent surveying a misbehaving child.

"Where am I?" she asked of the hawk, knowing it could answer her. It had, after all, spoken to her when she had been looking for something that could heal Seth's wounds . . .

Where was Seth, or Joshua for that matter? Still in the forest while Eirika was now in this graveyard? She suppressed a shiver as she looked around the tombstones, fear numbing her completely; so much so that she cared not that the hawk remained quiet.

Eirika stared at one of the tombs, marked by a huge statue of a marble angel holding a crooked scythe. The angel's face was handsome and familiar, oddly so, and she read the inscription beneath the angel's booted feet.

_Joseph McGee_

_Loving Father, Husband and Son_

_Devoted Worker_

_So much so that he abandoned his daughter_

_And forced her to kill him_

"By Saint Latona . . ." Eirika backed away from the angel quickly, staring at his face in horror. She knew why it was familiar, because it was almost impossibly similar to Alice's.

She had killed her own father . . .

And Eirika was trapped in this girl's Paradise; a girl guilty of patricide.

"Princess Eirika!"

Seth's voice, sounding almost like a chorus of angels to Eirika now, called out to her. No, she couldn't use that similarity, not after seeing Alice's father's face on that angel. The Princess of Renais stared around the graveyard quickly, her face ashen and her body shivering, looking for the familiar emotionless face of her knight.

"Seth?" she called, embarrassed but not really caring that her voice cracked with fear, "Seth where are you?"

He didn't answer her. Another did.

Eirika turned and screamed to see the stone angel guarding Joseph McGee's grave speak, its voice hard and full of pain.

"Little girl, run."

She didn't need telling twice, but for what reasons the angel had meant she didn't care. Eirika tripped over tree roots and grave mounds as she ran, intent on putting as much distance between her and the angel as possible.

Why did she need to be so weak? How could she kill Lyon when this was how she reacted? At the moment, Eirika could give less to how she was acting, for fear and instinct had taken over and she just needed to run away.

She collided with something sharp and heavy, feeling as though her kneecaps were about to split open from the impact. Eirika fell to the ground, breathing heavy from running so hard and shivering from cold and fear. She looked at what had made her trip.

"Hello misses! Fancy finding you here!"

Eirika thanked Saint Latona, and Grado, and any god or greater power that existed that she was no longer alone in this evil place. Eirika was looking down at Joshua, who had been lying on the ground, his hat pulled low over his eye as he apparently slept against one tombstone marked: _Sean Catherine._

"Joshua, thank Saint Latona you're here," she whispered breathlessly, and he raised an eyebrow slightly.

"I could ask of you the same question!" he said cheerily in that annoying voice that Eirika was growing used to hearing.

"Where's Seth?" she asked immediately of him, her voice still quivering in fear.

"Seth who misses!" he asked of her happily, sitting up and grinning wider.

"Seth! The knight in silver armor?" she added, in case it would help with his corrupted memory. Joshua tapped his chin annoyingly, contorting his face in a mocking expression of thought.

"Hmm . . ." He snapped his fingers. "I know where he is!"

"Where?" Eirika asked sharply and Joshua looked at her, smiling still.

"Who's where?" he asked innocently.

"Princess Eirika!"

This time, it was not Seth's voice that yelled out to her, but another man's. Eirika stood; ignoring Joshua's scrambled attempts to get to his feet as well, and looked over the top of Sean Catherine's gravestone.

A young man, pale hair askew, eyes wide and the same color as the laburnum flowers bound about his wrists, dressed in royal gold and indigo. The red hawk that had led Eirika to the river perched upon his arm, chirruping doggedly; "Pretty lady needs to run! Run away, pretty lady, run away!"

"Hello Eirika," he said merrily, as if he were speaking to an old, yet younger, friend. He stroked the hawk delicately, making sure it never caught a nip of the yellow laburnum.

"Who're you?" Eirika demanded immediately of him, her voice still quavering in the sudden shock of finding herself in this horrible place.

He smiled wider, drawing his heavy mantle tighter to his thin frame. "Is that any way to talk to a friend Eirika?" he asked, "However, since I want to set a good example for you, my name is Bill." He gave a sweeping bow, the hawk flying from his wrist to perch on one of the crooked trees in the cemetery.

Eirika blinked in surprise, inhaling to calm herself. Something about the man, Bill, reminded her strongly of Jabberwock, which might mean that he had another one of Ephraim's soldiers with him.

"Where's Seth?" she asked, eyeing the large chunks of wood broken from a tree limb. Even if she lacked both her rapier and the Sieglinde, Eirika was not going to be defenseless if he had some stupid game in mind. Not after what had happened in the forest.

"Patience is a virtue," he said with a sharp nod, looking down on her from his beaky nose, "But you really shouldn't worry, Eirika. You're all safe in Paradise. Nobody dies here. Now, it might be best if you stopped stressing yourself out."

"But where is he!" Eirika yelled, amazed she could even speak this loudly. His diminutive attitude was angering her. She wasn't some child anymore; she'd seen both her parents die, killed others, and even if she was weaker than her brother, she didn't deserve to be insulted like this.

Bill sighed heavily, "If you are stubbornly refusing to be good, I might as well show you. But you must try and relax yourself." He turned on his heels, snapping them together in the mockery of a soldier's stance, pointing two fingers at the hawk in the tree. "Bang, bang!"

The hawk froze on its perch, the feathers on its body standing on end. It fell backwards from its branch, almost as if it had been shot by an arrow, though no wound or cause was visible.

However, its body never touched the ground. A man's did.

Eirika felt her entire body go number, her face draining of any blood or color. She was amazed she was still conscious; amazed she could stand and hold her stomach.

Seth's body skid on the ground where the hawk's landed, still bloody and still wounded, if not more so then before. Deep scars lined his cheeks and neck, the blood spilling down his face faster then it should have, face contorted in a mask of pain and feverish sleep.

"Poor girl," Bill said, shaking his head dramatically, "You do need to relax. How about we play a little game?"

"What?" she asked, amazed she could still talk.

"A little game," he repeated slowly, as if she were hard of hearing, "With some minor stakes; for fun. If you win, Eirika, I'll let you have this man's humanity back. If you don't, you'll give me your sanity. That sounds fair, doesn't it?" He smiled widely, like Father MacGregor had when Eirika was a child and done well in a lesson.

Eirika looked at Seth's body, numbness controlling her. She felt herself nod, knowing she was to lose.

_**Side Note:**_

_**Some of the phrases Cat used are Old English.**_

_**Cynn – kin**_

_**Cyning – king**_

**_Lufian – love_**

**_Starlings are small birds known for mimicking human speech, as quoted Shakespeare's play _Henry the Fourth: _"I'll have a starling shall be taught to speak nothing but _Mortimer_."_**

_**Edit Update:**_

_**Heavy editing for this chapter, but it deserved it.**_

_**I do not own Fire Emblem, Nintendo does. I own all original characters.**_


	9. Human Stakes

_**Chapter IX**_

_**Human Stakes**_

"Do you gamble, Dr. McArthur?"

It was an odd question to be asked of him, Tobias thought emptily, watching as Alice drew with her crayons and paper. The thick black outlines of the people stood out so painfully against the white of the paper.

He couldn't actually remember a time when he had gambled. Perhaps in college he had, or on a dare once or twice, but never for any high stakes. Scribbling down her question inside the journal he had begun to keep of her (Tobias was sure he'd make a fortune with Alice's story someday), he answered in a kind voice.

"I don't think I ever did, Alice," Tobias said, forcing his face into a smile, "Did your friends ask you to gamble?"

She gave a cold laugh, lifting up the crimson crayon to color in her drawing's long hair. Unlike the other pictures Tobias had previously seen her draw, which all pictured the teal-haired Eirika and Ephraim, this new drawing was of a redheaded man with a pirate-like hat atop his head. He was drawn in the same stick figure style that Alice so frequently used.

"They don't need to ask me; I ask them." She pressed down hard on the crayon, coloring so hard that it snapped cleanly in half. "I've played the games before, and I love them dearly. It's how Joseph died, through my favorite game ever. Only good thing man ever did, methinks."

Tobias thought back to the list of victims of the Red Queen, trying to remember if there had been a Joseph amongst them. Then it hit him, and he swallowed hard against the sour bile that threatened to rise. The only Joseph killed was Joseph McGee, Alice's biological father.

The newspapers had dug up the information that Joseph had lost the custody battle over Alice and hadn't seen her for since she was a very small child, so his death had been ruled as suicide when first discovered – for it was a bullet to the temple. Alice, however, had confessed to murdering her father at her trial to it, along with the other forty-nine names – names including her step-father, best friends, and even a half-sister.

"What game is it, Alice?" he asked again, voice more forced than ever before, pen tapping against his clipboard irritatingly.

"Russian Roulette," she responded simply, a dreamy smile on her face, "One bullet in the revolver chamber is all it takes to play." Alice cast an eye over at Tobias, a sneer curling her lips in a manner and a chuckle passing her lips, "Of course, _you'd_ never try such a fun game."

Tobias pushed his glasses up his nose, forcing himself to keep that smile plastered neatly on his face. "Do your friends Ephraim and Eirika play Russian Roulette with you? Did they ask you to play with them?"

She laughed again, this time an innocent giggle of a laugh that nevertheless sounded sickening. "They don't like gambling. Joshua does. Russian Roulette with them wouldn't be fun." Her eyes, however, brightened as she whispered out in ecstasy, "But sword fighting . . ."

He wrote more in the journal, under the growing column of her so-called "friends". With this new Joshua, that gave him three names and little to work off of. A small part of him wondered how insane it made Alice if she had three imaginary friends, although his greater rationality and common sense told him it mattered not.

"Do you mind telling me more about Joshua?"

Alice ignored him for a long time. She tapped the crayon against the tabletop, looking at him with an odd expression in her blue eyes. Tobias knew from photographs of Alice McGee – the ones prior to incarceration – that her eyes had been bright and beautifully crystalline, an eternally smiling blue.

"Is there something you want to tell me, Alice?" he asked hesitantly, though not unkindly. He had once made the mistake of speaking to a patient harshly and still had the scars from the woman's fingernails and teeth.

"Did you know that in the Middle Ages, the insane were simply stoned to death," she said softly, not a question but more of a demand for knowledge.

"That isn't true for all cases," Tobias explained, glad to know he remembered something from the millions of history classes he had been forced to take, "Monasteries and clerical hospitals would give them shelter and aide."

"Bullshit!" she laughed, raking her fingers through her hair and drawing her knees up to her chest, "Humans aren't kind enough to help others less fortunate, unless they get praise or price themselves." She inhaled a shaky breath and spoke quicker, softer, less sane, "But they're different, all of them. My friends are kind and they don't get rewards for it, but they're special. They can't do wrong."

"Every human does wrong, Alice. Nobody's perfect."

Immediately after he spoke, Tobias regretted speaking at all.

Alice stood sharply, eyes wide and full of such malice and fury that Tobias could see exactly how this eighteen year old girl had killed fifty people for such stupid reasons. Her breath was coming in short gasps, her voice shivering when she spoke, and her words – the words that she screamed out at the top of her lungs – sounded the sanest she had ever spoken in his company.

"MY FRIENDS ARE PERFECT!" she snarled, "EVERY SINGLE ONE OF THEM! PERFECT! PERFECT! **PERFECT!**"

She lunged for Tobias, grabbing him by the throat, digging her short nails deep into his throat, attempting – or so it seemed – to tear his neck in two. His breath ceased immediately, his body paralyzed from the sudden shock of the attack and restriction of breath so that when Tobias finally attempted to strike back, he couldn't muster the energy.

Why was her grip so strong, so unnaturally strong for a teenage girl that hardly weighed one hundred pounds?

"AND SOMEDAY, YOU'LL KNOW TOO!" she snarled into his face, and for a moment Tobias thought he had seen a flicker of orange in those blue eyes of hers. It was most likely the lack of oxygen to his brain playing tricks with his vision.

Finally, summoning all his might, Tobias swung his fist against Alice's face, knocking her backwards and causing a sliver of red blood to run down her nose. She collided with the metal post of the wrought iron bed with a loud crack and she slid down to the ground in a heap. Her eyes were glassy, but she was breathing evenly enough, blood slipping down her temple.

He gasped for breath, leaning on the chair Alice had sat in, rubbing his throat and wincing as he felt the beginnings of deep brushings on his skin and the trickle of blood down his fingertips.

Tobias might not have been the strongest of men, but he was certain he could have held his own against someone of height and weight and age as Alice McGee – criminal record or not.

Why was it, then, that he could not fight her off?

* * *

Eirika inhaled several breaths of stagnant air, shivering as she inhaled heavy scents of lime and rotten flesh. Her eyes darted from Seth's unmoving body – although he looked more like a cadaver than a living person now – to Joshua standing eagerly behind her, blinking whimsically like a child, to Bill before her, smiling serenely.

"That's the spirit!" said Bill with a laugh, his wide eyes never leaving Eirika's face, "Name your second."

"Second?" asked Eirika quickly, her voice higher than she would have liked. What gambling games did she know that involved having a second? Considering she knew little about gambling, she could not name one.

"Of course. In case you lose, someone else should play. Its only fair Eirika and you wouldn't want to be unfair," he said with a dogged nod, looking up at the sky and smiling, "It's beautiful this morning, isn't it?" Eirika could not help but look up at the sky above and immediately wished she had not succumbed to the temptation.

The sky was black as night, the stars pinpricks of red light that somehow managed to ooze burgundy light into the clouds – pewter gray and sulfuric almost, angry and crackling with unnatural lightning. The moon – the moon Eirika could have sworn was a crescent mere minutes ago – was round and full and glittering blood red.

A grim prediction of her oncoming failure, Eirika supposed, feeling pinpricks of cold spreading across her arms and legs. She felt sick, but couldn't faint, not with Seth's very _humanity_ on the line.

"Come on now, name your second Eirika," Bill asked again, "Do I need to do it for you?

"Ephraim," she answered on impulse. Ephraim would be able to deal with him, would be able to comfort and solve all this mess, like he always did when the two of them were little. More confidently, she told Bill, "My brother Ephraim will be my second."

"I'm sorry, but no." He looked down at Eirika with eyes that glimmered with merriment. Eirika's jaw tightened in response to the flood of horror and disappointment filling her. Why couldn't Ephraim be her second?

"Why?" she asked weakly, and Bill, stepping over a grave with a tombstone engraved with the name _Wilhelmina Moore, _answered, "I said no Eirika."

Eirika felt her stomach lurch and bile flood her mouth. Her fingers flexed for the hilt of a sword, something even to just break that serene woman before her, just to crack apart that wistful smile . . .

"Just tell me, why Ephraim can't help me," she asked coldly, cerulean eyes boring deep into Bill's golden. For the moment, her fear and nausea were gone and adrenaline flooded her, like it did when she was in the midst of combat.

"Name your second."

"Innes." She licked her dry lips slightly before continuing, "Prince Innes of Frelia." Eirika's second choice would have been Seth, obviously due to the knight's great loyalty and unfaltering success, but since she was gambling away his humanity (the thought brought a surge of illness to her), a substitute was needed. Innes would be the next best thing to having Seth, third to Ephraim in her book, but still . . .

"Splendid!" he said, "Now you do know, Eirika, that if you loose I'll have to take his sanity away from him. That's only fair."

"That wasn't part of the terms!" Eirika snarled, more out of horror than anger, her eyes widening. By Saint Latona, please don't let his sanity be put on the line, please don't let her be the one to kill _her _friend . . .

Bill shook his head. "Don't be snappish Eirika," he said firmly, "I suppose I'll be her second." He gave a long whistle with his fingers, like her father used to do to get the dogs when he took Eirika and Ephraim hunting.

The smell of blood soon filled the air; thicker than the stench brought by Seth's wounds. It was too overpowering, so that Eirika's stomach lurched, and this time she could not handle it. She collapsed to her knees, emptying the meager contents of her stomach onto the ground and breathing heavily.

It was several minutes before she could stand again, as if the smell Eirika had grown accustomed to through war had fatigued her greatly. She stared at the blonde man with as much hatred and strength as she could muster, and her eyes fell instead upon the body lying at Bill's side.

Tana. Facedown, unmoving, skin alabaster white, her arms and legs torn apart by thorns and minor wounds, seeping blood across the ground just as Seth was doing . . .

How long she stared at the unmoving, possibly dead, body of her best friend, Eirika didn't know. How she could even stand, after all of this in such a short time, after everything that had happened since Grado invaded Renais, Eirika didn't know.

For the moment, she was beyond scared, beyond horrified, and her mind so fatigued it was alert and keen and ready to make Bill _pay._

"What's the game?" Eirika demanded, her voice low and full of an uncharacteristic order for an answer.

Bill spread his arms wide, his fingers twitching slightly. Eirika stood still, strong despite the fatigue and denial, not really comprehending what was going on. She was barely half conscious, not really seeing the graveyard and its demonic sky and yet . . .

Tana's body began to stir, and something resembling relief spread through Eirika. So she wasn't dead, so Tana could still be tended to by a healer's magic.

However, as the Frelian Princess rose to her full height, she stood at a limp stance, back arched unnaturally, face falling to her chest with hair obscuring her eyes – blank, navy eyes without a hint of life or warmth to them. With a start, Eirika recalled another who had stood like that with a look just like that in their eyes . . .

It had been Orson's resurrected wife, Monica, controlled by Lyon's Necromancy. The misshapen lump of diseased flesh and decayed skin who doggedly repeated 'Darling, darling, darling . . .' and living in the suite of Eirika's long dead mother . . .

"Duel," Bill stated simply.

Tana's hand fumbled before her, brandishing a weapon that had not been in her hands there seconds ago. It was not her silver lance, as she had wielded since accompanying Eirika in Carcino, but a long sickle, a scythe whose blade was smashed and dented and stained with blood.

"Last one standing wins."

This wasn't a game of chance, Eirika thought in panic as she dodged the slicing lunge of the sickle, this was a battle, and battle was something Eirika could do.

Unfortunately, she could not do it against her oldest and dearest friend.

Tana's body moved sluggishly, her head lolling as she swung the sickle around with surprising accuracy. As the Frelian Princess moved, Bill's arms moved in the same manner, fingers twitching spastically, almost as if he were the puppeteer of the marionette that Tana had become.

Eirika ducked behind a headstone, panic rising in her chest and snapping her out of the stupor she had fallen into. Her eyes darted around frantically for a weapon – a heavy stick, a piece of stone from a headstone, anything at all – and found nothing.

"Now don't hide Eirika! Cowardice isn't a virtue!" called Bill merrily and Eirika had to dart out from behind the headstone just as Tana's sickle was thrown into the dirt exactly where Eirika's leg had been.

The Renaitian Princess stared at Tana as she lugged at the sickle, her breathing heavy, wondering what she needed to do. Did she have to kill Tana in order to win Joshua's and Seth's freedom? That was something Eirika was sure she could never do, of that she was certain . . .

Instead, Eirika looked at Bill. He was dancing around as if conducting an orchestra, fingers twitching in time to Tana's movements. When Eirika squinted, however, she could catch faint glints between Bill's fingers and Tana's arms and legs.

Metallic wire. Marionette string. Mind working quickly, a plan began to form in Eirika's mind, and had she not been preoccupied she would have been proud of it. If she could snap the wires Alice was obviously using to control Tana (what other reason could it be?), then Eirika could possibly win the duel without ever having to hurt her.

The thought, however, didn't last long, for her scream rent the air in a second, her blood turning cold.

Tana stood over Eirika with her head lolling to her chest, and, swinging the glaive full-force at the Renaitian Princess, made contact with her side. Had Eirika's breastplate been in place, she would have been spared an injury, but since she'd removed it in Radcliff Manse . . .

Blood pooled from the wound across Eirika's hands, which were rapidly loosing coloring. She fell to the ground, body numbing, clutching at her side where she could feel muscle and tissue and perhaps even her _ribs _in the wound . . .

Was this how she was going to die? By the glaive held in the hands of Eirika's oldest, dearest friend, in a graveyard with so much at stake? Had she failed Seth, failed Tana, Innes, Joshua . . . that badly?

"EIRIKA!"

Who had screamed? She didn't know . . .

Eirika laid her head on the ground, clutching her side, shivering in pain and cold, the loss of blood causing her vision to fade out in nauseating blotches . . . Although she could not feel the tears, she was sure she was crying.

"EIRIKA! PRINCESS, PLEASE! WAKE UP!"

_**I do not own Fire Emblem, Nintendo does. I own all original characters.**_


	10. Vice and Virtue

_**Chapter X**_

_**Vice and Virtue**_

_Filthy private school_, Megan Moore thought with a snarl as her old Ford Pinto pulled up to the curb of a magnificent building, situated at the edge of town. It had the look of a historical university to it, complete with bell tower and ivy snaking up the outside walls. Saint Erica's Academy was the exact stereotype of a fancy girl's school, and while Mina had belonged there (with her grades, there was no question), Alice McGee certainly did not.

"Wow, ain't that fancy as hell."

Megan jerked her keys out of the ignition and turned a steely eye to her so-called partner in crime. Bob Catherine, for all his homeless and nicotine-addicted faults, certainly did clean up nice with a shower, a shave and a new pair of clothes (well, not new, since they had once belonged to Megan's ex-husband and not yet been cleaned out of the apartment). He turned and grinned at her, "Ya'll used to _go _to this place?"

"_I_ never had the grades to get in," Megan snapped, almost kicking open the door as she clambered out, "Mina did." Bob followed, still stooping over where he stood, following Megan like a shadow as she walked up the winding drive of Saint Erica's.

The atrium was a symbol of decadence, thought Megan. Marble – probably not faux, she thought – walls and fine oak floors all lit with the finest and most perfect electrical system in the country. The woman at the registration desk was bored, smacking bubblegum and flipping over her braided hair.

"Excuse me," Megan told the girl at the counter, who looked up, annoyed, from her magazine. "Megan Moore and Robert Catherine. We had a meeting with the student council president?"

"Oh, yeah," the girl said, checking a roster by her side, "She's in the art room, clearin' out stuff for the Festival . . ." She handed Megan two passes and returned to her magazine, which was probably the first thing she'd read all month.

"I ain't Robert," Bob told her, grinning proudly as he clipped the visitor ID to the lapel of his jacket, "It sounds stupid."

"No, Bob sounds stupid. Robert at least doesn't sound like a moron's name."

"So ya do care!"

Megan looked around the halls of Saint Erica's in utmost distaste, her eyes scanning the pieces of student artwork that hung upon the corridor leading down to the main art room. How many times Megan had heard about this school at home, heard her parents debating how they would pay for Mina's education, and remembered how upset her mother was when Megan couldn't get into this damn place as a kid . . .

"Dat the art room, Miz. Moore?" Bob asked her, snapping Megan back to reality. She turned around to face a set of double doors covered in various notes and miscellaneous papers, along with the title _Art Storage and Painting Room_. "Who has a painting room all to itself?"

Megan shoved open the door, walking inside and nearly choking on the smell of paint and plaster that oozed from every inch of that ridiculously large room. It was almost sickening. A lone female figure was in the room, lifting canvases from their places upon the easels. She jumped at the sound of their voices.

"Oh," she said, blushing scarlet, smoothing her navy skirt and fixing her hair, "Are you Mina's sister?"

_Fine greeting, _Megan thought nastily but shook the girl's hand and nodded. The student was short and raven-haired, not pretty but not exactly ugly. _More bookish_, Megan supposed.

"I'm Anna Lutze," she said with a polite – almost rehearsed – bow, eyes looking at Bob, who gave a yellow-toothed grin and stooped bow in return. Anna looked sick and spoke to Megan, "What did you wish to discuss?"

Best not to beat around the bush, Megan thought, and spoke aloud the name of the one woman Megan wouldn't mind being responsible for the death of, "Alice McGee."

Anna's face paled and she gulped nervously, hurrying quickly back to the canvases she had been sorting. Megan scowled. "I really need to talk to you; you were her best friend, weren't you?"

"What do you want?" she demanded quickly, almost painfully. She sounded almost near tears. "The police said I wasn't in any trouble, what the hell do you want? I didn't _do anything!_"

Bob, speaking quicker before Megan could (and probably for the best) asked, "Did yer friend ever mention Eirika or Ephraim, or Siegmund or Sieglinde?"

Anna knelt down by the rows of canvases and said nothing, nimble fingers moving across the canvas frames. She was shaking, crying certainly, and Megan felt irritation swelling inside her. Damnit, all she wanted were some answers, just a bit of a clue even to the identities of these people that had helped kill Mina and Sean and all those other poor people . . .

"Eirika and Ephraim, you said?" Anna asked softly, voice cracking as she stood, fingers holding onto a canvas and shivering. Megan grunted in agreement and the student set the canvas down upon an easel, "Alice wrote stories about them, she used to let me and Caroline and Liz read them . . . but Alice was a better painter . . ."

Megan looked at the painting, the portrait done in a master's hand no less, of two people – male and female. Two people, dressed in rich gold and red of imperial glory, hair long for the two of them, eyes unfocused and faces smiling falsely . . .

But the painting . . . those people, the two near identical people painted . . .

"Sweet Jesus," Bob muttered, summing up Megan's thoughts exactly.

The man was deformed; near demonic, with leathery wings wrapping around his form and eyes a brilliant, gleaming crimson that looked like blood. Sharply clawed hands were gripping the woman's shoulders; and the woman who was painted . . . She barely looked human, not with those eyes, not with those claws!

And yet . . . and yet . . . Somehow Megan knew that these people weren't meant to be like this. Perhaps it was their eyes? She shook her head, dismissing the idea as ludicrous. No artist had ever been able to precisely capture emotion.

"Alice said these were the villains of her stories," Anna said softly, looking at her feet, "At least, when she painted this, she did . . ."

"What do you mean?" Megan asked, trying to ignore the painted still-life, although her eyes continually traveled up to the faces of the two people. Anna looked down at her feet.

"She never said they were the outright villains," murmured Anna, turning away, "But this picture says it all." She pointed at the portrait, voice still soft, but now almost cold and analytical.

"For one thing, they're drabbed in the cloth of imperial colors – absolute monarchies, totalitarian dictators. The man, painted as a dragon almost, represents draconian law – unfair, strict, cold – red eyes symbolizing bloodlust and warmongering. The dragon can also mean war and bloodshed. He's obviously a murderer."

She looked at the woman's face, a pensive look on her face, and spoke quicker. "Yellow eyes, decay and disease, gray skin, possibly ash on it, dying and burnt, an existence without a purpose . . . Blood on the nails," (Megan's eyes flickered to the woman's clawed hands, indeed finding some with a sick feeling), "Again, murderess. Her hair itself is done up like Jane Grey's, a failed queen and ruler, and the uncared for appearance suggests she's dead, again, no purpose, forgotten. She's fodder, little more, useless."

Bob blinked in surprise at Anna's rant. Megan spoke instead after the silence, "And . . . these are Eirika and Ephraim?"

Slowly, Anna nodded. "Alice called this _Vice and Virtue_."

Megan ignored the art freak and looked back at the portrait and shook her head. If those painted monstrosities of people were Eirika and Ephraim, then why had their names appeared at the sight of Sean Catherine's murder?

Something caught her eye at the arm of the throne the demonic man – Ephraim was it? – was painted on. Leaning closer to the portrait and narrowing her eyes to see the words _We Guard the Gate _carved onto the wood.

* * *

"EIRIKA! EIRIKA!"

Sensation brushed against her skin, tantalizing glimpses of touch that were agonizing to feel.

"EIRIKA! PLEASE, EIRIKA!"

Her eyelids fluttered open, the cerulean eyes behind them unfocused and dark from unconsciousness. Nausea swam within her chest as Eirika sat up, her body weak from the blood loss, her mind amazed she was even still alive.

"PRINCESS!"

She looked around her, her head aching as she tried to keep the vertigo and illness back. Eirika was freezing, no doubt owning to the loss of blood, and her mind was painfully sick and functioning poorly. Even still, she recognized the speaker's voice.

". . . Seth?" she whispered, voice hoarse as she forced her eyesight to flicker back to clarity.

Dark clay of a graveyard's ground; sky scattered clouds of smoke and brimstone, stars as red as blood . . . She looked down at herself. Blood was caked upon her hands and sides, and a poor tourniquet bound around her ribcage. Who had bandaged the wound?

She wasn't dead. Saint Latona, she was happy to hear those words, but Eirika's attention turned quickly to seeing what had become of the others who had been watcher – and participant – to Alice's game of chance.

Not a soul stirred, aside from her. There was no Bill acting as puppeteer to poor Tana, no bewitched Joshua to watch with cheeriness in his eyes, no Seth's body lying on the ground about to die . . .

"Seth?" Eirika called again, using a tombstone to hoist herself up to her feet and leaning against it. Her side felt like the ribs had been splintered, the skin weak and easily tearing to release more lifeblood.

She knew she had heard him call for her, was very sure that it had been him. Who else could it have been, when Seth had indeed been in the graveyard when Eirika had been unconscious . . . ?

Yet Eirika had lost, so by all means she should be insane and Seth inhuman. Was she simply hearing things then? The thought send a shiver through her body and bile across her tongue.

"You lost, you lost, lost, lost, lost!" spoke a girlish giggle, high and annoying, ringing in her sore head. She recognized that voice as well, closer in memory, and called out although her voice was weak and throat was sore and painful.

"Show yourself!"

There was another giggle, a laugh between a shriek of joy and a howl of black humor. The sound was familiar, a sinister ringing in her mind that made Eirika clutch the tombstone she was using for support in an even tighter grip. She felt blood leaking out from the wound in her side and was sure a healer needed to tend to it but there was nobody here, nobody who could help her.

Eirika looked up, vision spinning from blood loss, but her sight was clear enough to make out a single figure, small and lithe and blonde, familiar . . .

"Miss, you've lost! Lost, lost, lost! You've failed all of them!"

Jabberwock, her mind told her instantly. It was Jabberwock, the small figure, and Eirika clutched her side as sharp pain raced through the injured muscle and skin. Hot blood covered her fingers, seeping through the thin material of the tourniquet someone had applied.

"Where are they?" she demanded of Jabberwock. "Where is everybody who was here before? Joshua, Seth, Tana? _Where are they_?" He merely laughed, as if to dismiss her questions, and tapped the brim of his hat.

"You lost!" he said with a nod and a grin, "But Miss. Bella wanted to be nice to you! You should be very, very happy!" He wagged a finger at her in a chastising manner, the smile never leaving his gray eyes.

"Where are they!" Eirika demanded, but her voice trailed off into a moan as she doubled over in pain.

"They're right here!" Jabberwock told her with a nod and a widening grin, "They've never left!"

Could she not see them? Eirika, beads of fearful sweat trickling down the nape of her neck, spun around the graveyard searching as hard as she could for any of the three, just anybody else . . .

"SETH!" she screamed out. "JOSHUA! TANA!"

"Princess . . ."

Eirika ran. She didn't know where she ran to, or exactly what she was running from, but found her feet skirting the barren ground, her eyes brimming with tears of pain owing to the wound in her side, and also tears of fear.

Was she hallucinating, hearing things? She did indeed lose the duel to the marionette that Tana had been forced to become and thus lost the game to Bill, but . . . Was she _really _insane? Did she really no longer have a grasp of reality; was she . . . like Riev, like Valter, like every other psychopath that Eirika and her brother had had to cleave down in the course of this war?

"SOMEBODY! PLEASE, SOMEBODY!" she yelled, choking, just wanting to see somebody from reality, see somebody – _anybody_, _damn it _– who would be able to convince her that she wasn't insane . . .

Eirika tripped and fell to the ground, her side exploding into pain and agony. She clutched her side and fought back more tears. What a queen she'd make someday, especially if she was indeed insane . . .

"Princess Eirika!"

She looked up, the side of her face stinging where she'd scraped it falling, her panicked eyes falling upon somebody she knew, somebody not Jabberwock and not Alice, but a tall man, red hair matching the blood from her wound . . .

"Seth!" she yelled, scrambling to her feet, staring in utmost relief at the Renaitian general. He looked much the same as he had when Joshua had helped win him from Jabberwock's clutches – still scarred, still bleeding profusely from wounds across his face and a twisted arm, but he was standing, albeit swaying, and his eyes were looking at her in fear.

"Princess," he gasped out, sounding as if speaking caused him a great deal of pain, "What happened, why are you hurt?"

She could not say anything, but a feeling of utmost relief spread through her. Here was proof, physical evidence that Eirika was not insane, that she still was . . .

"Seth? It's really you?" she asked, not wanting this to be a demented byproduct of the loss she'd suffered. He looked at her oddly, almost fearfully, holding his arm carefully so that his gloves were soon a deep black from the blood.

"Milady, what do you mean?" His eyes suddenly widened and he hurried forward to catch Eirika as she collapsed, her mind reeling back into the darkness, fatigue and stress and blood loss finally shutting her systems down.

At least she wasn't crazy.

_**I do not own Fire Emblem, Nintendo does. I own all original characters.**_


End file.
